The Fifth Wife

by Sahara Kelly

  All this ran through her head as she kept her face expressionless. She’d learned early in life to maintain a blank silence so as not to incur his wrath.

  “A servant at an inn? Really, daughter. I thought you were less stupid than your sisters. It seems I was wrong.”

  She looked down. “I made no secret of my leaving, father. I told you.”

  “You omitted to add that your absence would be more than a day. Or that you would fail to leave any direction. Especially since you were due to settle the details with Penvale in the interim.”

  “I did not want…”

  He slammed his palm on the desk silencing her. “I do not care what you want or don’t want. You are a daughter and therefore nothing more than an asset I intend to use to the best advantage of the family.”

  “Like you did when I worked at home when the maids kept leaving? I don’t see the difference. Here I was paid and thanked.” She faced him. “Not palmed off in a marriage to someone I didn’t know in exchange for whatever settlement is involved.”

  “Shut your mouth. I am your father and you will not speak to me with disrespect.”

  “Then try to find a little respect for your daughter. If you intend for me to wed Penvale, remember the position to which that marriage will elevate me.”

  Hannah wasn’t sure where the courage to address her father in such a manner was coming from, but she knew at this point that she would no longer bow before his iron will. She didn’t think he’d ever loved any of his family. It was his loss. But aside from his emotionally barren state, she would not condone his cruelty anymore.

  “When I am Lady Penvale, father, I will have some say over his Lordship. If you’re expecting anything from him, you’d best treat me as you would a cherished child. Otherwise I will make it my life’s goal to ruin you.”

  He blinked. “Absurd childish nonsense. You will marry Penvale and do as you are told, either by your husband or myself. I assume he’s every bit as weak-willed a fop as the last Penvale, so bear in mind what that means. I will still be in control.”

  The memory of Charles’s face flashed through Hannah’s mind. And she smiled. “I see. You told my sisters what to do?”

  He grunted. “I didn’t tell ‘em to die, girl. But childbirth—that’s God’s will.”

  “Lucy fell from a horse.”

  There was a pause. “Apparently.”

  “What do you mean ‘apparently’?” Hannah chilled at his matter-of-fact tone.

  “Sit down girl. And pay attention for once in your life.” Her father pointed to a chair in front of the desk.

  She saw no valid reason not to take it, so she sat, her spine erect, her attention focused on the greying man in front of her. How he could have sired so many children, she couldn’t imagine. Right now, he looked like someone who would have been more at home sentencing a convict to transportation or death.

  “Now that you will wed this new Penvale, I shall tell you of a certain inheritance, something you will find for me. If you fail or refuse…”

  “If I fail or refuse—what?” She stared at him, unblinking.

  He stared back, his eyes flat. “Accidents have been known to happen to the unwary. Your sister Lucy is a sad example.”

  Hannah drew in a rough breath. “You had Lucy killed?”

  “Don’t be more stupid than you can help.” He moved papers on his desk. “I simply suggested she pay closer attention to her tack. She always was a flibbety-gibbet girl. Ignored my advice.” His steel gaze lifted to Hannah once more. “She also ignored my instructions.”

  There were no words, no thoughts, nothing in Hannah’s mind but a blank horror. Her own father had orchestrated the accident that had killed her sweet sister Lucy.

  This was no man, this was a monster.

  At that moment, Hannah’s perception of her life changed in ways that were unanticipated and saddening. Her childhood shriveled and died in a dull flicker before her eyes, and she shed the last of her illusions about paternal affection.

  There was none.

  Across the desk was a man she didn’t know. A man capable of doing and ordering very bad things to other people. He was dangerous, and recognizing that she sat even straighter.

  “Explain.”

  His gaze narrowed at the one sharp word. “Very well. The birthmark you bear is a representation of a real object. An artifact of Viking origin called a taufr.”

  It sounded like he was saying “tawfur”, and she had no idea what that was. But if it was a Viking or Norse word, that wasn’t surprising. “Go on.”

  “The Penvales have it. I want it. The Derbys are entitled to it, since their women have ensured the Penvale line will continue.”

  “My sisters couldn’t find it?”

  “I couldn’t tell them where to look, now, could I? If I knew, it would be mine. Clearly they were too stupid to pursue an investigation into its whereabouts and I don’t have a lifetime to wait. So you will do it, and if you fail…” His grin was twisted and unpleasant.

  “The Penvale line has just passed to a new branch. What makes you think Charles Fontaine will know anything about it?”

  Her astute question gave him pause for a moment, and he shifted his attention to the window, his gaze blank as he thought that through.

  “I have to believe that information about the taufr is somewhere in the Penvale documentation or private records. That will now pass to this Fontaine man. You will search through everything and then tell me what you have learned. From that I will be able to locate it.”

  “What is it?” She asked the question for her own benefit.

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “If it turns out that there are Penvale heirloom items passing to the Fontaine line, and this thing is among them, shouldn’t I be aware of its appearance at least?”

  He gave a grudging nod. “Very well. It is the same shape as the birthmark. Interlocking triangles of gold and silver. ‘T’is said to be engraved and inset with the finest amber. But I doubt it is in the Penvale estate or one of your sisters would have found it.”

  “Worth a fortune, I suppose.”

  “More than that, girl. It has the power of the Vikings within it.”

  Hannah did not betray her surprise, but continued to stare at her father. “Power?”

  “The Norsemen held many secrets. But no one could deny their strength or their power to command. The taufr held that power for one Viking warrior who conquered all that he beheld. His prowess was legend. And he passed that power to his sons and their sons through the taufr. And now it is time for it to come to me.”

  Hannah looked at him, an aging, slightly overweight man of average height with graying hair. His appearance was not that of a Viking warrior. Unlike Charles. If anyone deserved to possess this artifact, it was her future husband.

  But then again, her future husband did not have the dark soul of this brute who had sired her.

  “Why?”

  “Why what, girl?” He looked irritated at the question.

  “Why go through all this kidnapping nonsense? And with Cousin Benby of all people? You could have told me all this at home.”

  He glared across the desk. “If you hadn’t been such a harebrained idiot and run away so damn fast, I would have done.”

  “But drugging me? Bringing me here to a brothel? I’m your daughter, for God’s sake. What were you thinking?”

  His eyes turned shifty, sliding away from her gaze. “You may be my daughter, but soon you’ll be another man’s wife. You’ve been in this place for two days now. I have witnesses who have seen you here. Fail to obey me and your husband will receive a full account of your whereabouts before you wed. What will he think of you then, girl? Do you believe he’d willingly keep a Lady Penvale who was a resident of a whorehouse? You can kiss your future goodbye and do it quickly before he throws you out without a second thought.”

  Hannah grasped his point. But there were some fatal flaws in his logic.

  He
didn’t know she’d already met Charles.

  And he didn’t know Charles.

  *~~*~~*

  The roads were bad enough that Charles and Dev had to keep their pace slower than they had hoped, and thus it was early afternoon by the time they reached Redbridge, and it took them an hour or so to inquire of the one or two people they saw where they might find the Mayflower.

  Their questions were greeted with disdain by the one lady they hailed. She turned up her nose and sailed off in high dudgeon.

  “Urgh.” Charles grunted.

  “Well what do you expect? You can’t ask a lady where to find a brothel, you know.”

  “Oh shut up, and ask that man.” Charles pointed his riding crop at an older man with a dog struggling through the snow.

  Dev did as he was told and it took another half hour to negotiate the appalling streets of Redbridge. Finally they saw the larger building at the end of the street and recognized it as the Mayflower.

  “Right.” Charles dismounted and took his horse’s reins in one hand. “I’m off ‘round the back. Give me some time. When you see the smoke or hear something, that’ll be your cue to be in front.”

  “Charles, my friend. We went over this last night and several times this morning. We both know what to do. So please, spare my sanity. Bugger off and do it, man.”

  Charles sighed, weighed the option of unleashing a flood of curses on Dev’s head, then remembered he needed him to complete their plan. Also he was just about the best friend any man could ask for and deserved better than Charles’s extensive repertoire of foul language. Besides he’d learned most of it from Dev anyway.

  So he nodded, touched his finger to his hat, and headed off to find the mews that would run behind the Mayflower. They allowed access for delivery carts to the back of the house and most likely a path to the stables, if there were any.

  He rather hoped there weren’t, since he wasn’t a skilled arsonist and hated the thought that he might do any damage other than a scary amount of smoke.

  However, luck was with him. The mews were narrow, but it was only a hedge on the other side. The Mayflower really was on the outskirts of town, but it was hard to tell in this foul weather.

  There were stables, and quite large ones, but they were in a completely separate building. He couldn’t tell if there were horses inside, but it was far enough away that he doubted they’d even smell the smoke. And if they did, all the better, since that would keep the grooms and stable lads busy.

  So he made sure to tie his horse well upwind at the start of the mews, and headed down toward what looked like a convenient wood pile.

  Lots of logs met his curious gaze. Which was all very nice but not terribly conducive to starting a small fire. He looked around, vainly hoping that something might appear labeled “use me to start fire”.

  That didn’t happen, so he started peering through the windows at the back of the Mayflower.

  Most were dark, or curtained. One or two were lit, and he cautiously took a look at one girl darning a sock, and another dozing in front of a small fire.

  He was bemused at this glimpse of the other side of a brothel—the side its clients would never see. God forbid they view their hostesses as real people with holes in their socks or in need of an afternoon nap.

  Since those two windows were locked tightly, he moved on. Finally, halfway down the mews, he found a window just slightly ajar and the room mostly dark. But the bits he could see held clothing laid over chairs and an odd kind of rack. It was a laundry room, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness within, he noticed the dull glow of a fire. Apparently this was where the damp clothes were dried in winter.

  And it was perfect for his purpose. Reaching for his tin of lucifers, Charles pulled out a handkerchief, wadded it into a ball and then doused it with some brandy from the flask he’d tucked into an inside pocket of his greatcoat. He took a quick sip himself just to fortify his spirits.

  Carefully easing the window open wider and praying it didn’t squeak, he reached inside with both hands, and placed the wet handkerchief on top of a garment, then took out a lucifer and struck it against the inside surface.

  It sprang to life and he dropped it onto the brandy-soaked fabric.

  The resultant blaze was quite satisfying and immediately caught the garment beneath.

  Knowing he’d done his part, Charles carefully pushed the window back, not shutting it too tightly since he wanted a nice draft to fan the flames. With luck it would all be extinguished without any more damage than some clothes and a bit of carpet.

  He looked over his shoulder as he crept back down the mews toward his horse. The flare from the laundry room told him that other clothing was also now aflame.

  His plan had worked.

  And as if on cue, a shout and then a scream rang out.

  He hurried to his mount and leaped into the saddle. Soon, very soon, he’d have Hannah back where she belonged.

  In his arms.

  Chapter Twelve

  Hannah stood outside the office, trying her best to collect her thoughts. Fists clenched, the one uppermost in her mind was the one where she planted a facer on the man who dared to call himself her father. The concept of parenthood had obviously bypassed him by a mile or so.

  She still seethed at the revelations he’d casually let drop, and a part of her wanted to sob with anger and pain at what he’d done to his daughters. Not to mention how little they mattered to him, as anything other than pawns in his game.

  Then she remembered Charles and his strength and compassion. He would understand. He would, if she explained it all thoroughly, perhaps agree to deal with Mr. Derby in ways that would exact retribution. And if she was very lucky, he might let her watch.

  A scream pushed these bloodthirsty thoughts aside, and she spun on her heel to see a girl rushing into the foyer.

  “Fire. The laundry room is burning…fire…”

  Doors opened and slammed and the sound of running feet quickly faded beneath the shrieks as smoke began to seep around the ceilings and into the air above Hannah.

  She looked around her, trying to get her bearings.

  “This way. Outside—we’ve got to get outside—“ Maisie ran up to Hannah, grabbed her hand and headed toward the end of the foyer. Just around a corner was a large door, and it was already ajar as the residents began to pour from their rooms and out into the cold.

  Shivering, Hannah ran after Maisie, aware that her thin slippers would be no protection from the snow and mud, but seeing no other option.

  It took only moments for them to get out and cross the street, huddling for shelter with the others as a crowd of onlookers grew around them. There were several people on horseback, carefully winding their way through the people running this way and that.

  Hannah wrapped her arms around herself, her feet icy, her body beginning to shake with the damn cold. She rubbed her arms briskly and wished she’d been able to grab a shawl or something before they ran outside.

  “Maaaa.”

  A strange sound caught her attention and she looked around. It sounded very much like—

  “Maaaaaa. Maaaaa.”

  A sheep?

  Forgetting the chill, she pushed her way to the front of the crowd and looked up and down the road, suddenly meeting the eyes of a tall man on a large bay mare.

  “Hannah.” He mouthed her name.

  She nodded, her heart thumping with excitement as he neatly maneuvered his horse to her side of the street and walked it up beside her.

  His hand came down to his knee, she grabbed it, and before she knew it she was sitting on the saddle as he slid backward.

  “Hang on, Miss Derby.” He grinned. “Charles is waiting.”

  Hannah grabbed the pommel and hung on.

  Sure enough, within a minute or two—a very long minute or two—she saw him, sitting behind an evergreen bush covered with snow.

  “Charles,” she shouted his name, happier than she’d ever been in her entire life
.

  “Over here,” he waved a hand, hitting some snow and making his horse fidget.

  She reached out without thinking, focused only on being in his arms. She forgot about the man she rode with, or the horse he was on. She forgot about the cold and her icy feet and the snow still falling around her and on her thin dress.

  All she could see, all she could desire, was in front of her.

  And then—he was holding her.

  How she got from the other horse to his, she neither knew nor cared. “Charles, oh Charles.” She hugged him, slipping her cold hands inside his coat, burying herself in his warmth. “I don’t know how you found me but I am so very glad you did.”

  She turned her face up to his to see his eyes, blue as a summer sky, smiling down at her. “I will always find you, love. You’re mine.”

  And he kissed her, thoroughly, behind a snow-covered bit of shrubbery on a quiet country lane.

  She would have prolonged their embrace, but there was a distinct clearing of the throat from the other side of the bush.

  “Could you two possibly wait a bit? I believe the authorities are about to arrive down the street at the Mayflower and I, for one, would prefer that we are well on our way before they discover we’ve rescued Miss Derby here.”

  Hannah looked as the man who’d lifted her from the street with ease. “Thank you sir. I’m sure once we’re more appropriately settled, Charles will introduce us, but until then, may I just call you Mr. Lamb?”

  He laughed aloud. “That is going to stay with me, isn’t it?”

  She chuckled and nodded as Charles grabbed a blanket from his saddlebag and swathed her in it. “I wish we’d thought to bring your clothes.”

  “It’s a long story, Charles. They took them.” She shivered. “I’m warming up thanks to your blanket, but I will admit my feet are a bit on the cold side.”

  “Any thoughts, Dev? I don’t know this area as well as I should.” Charles looked over at his friend.

  “There’s a very snug posting house on the other side of the river. Well away from Redbridge and the owner’s a friend of mine. He and his wife can help, I’m sure.”