by Byrne, Julia
When Nell looked a question at her, Bess touched her forehead. “Simple,” she whispered. Then, “What if she should quicken with child, lady? She would lose what mind she has, for certain. If it didn’t kill her.”
Nell gazed down at the motionless girl. “’Twould take any woman to the brink of madness to bear a babe in such circumstances, let alone a child like her.”
“Meg would have known what to do.” Bess sighed as she bent to draw the blanket up over the girl’s shoulders. “All the rest of us can do is pray.”
But would that be enough, Nell wondered grimly as she followed Bess from the hut. She, too, knew what to do. She had grown up knowing. Had often heard her aunt’s friends discussing their visits to a certain apothecary to rid themselves of the consequences of their indiscretions. And though the discussions were conducted in whispers, though the Church condemned such a practice as a hideous abomination, a crime deserving of eternal damnation, surely, here, the circumstances were very different. Surely, here, her knowledge could do only good.
“Look.” Bess touched her arm, distracting Nell from her uneasy thoughts and drawing her attention to the group of men around one of the fires. “Simpkin and Luke are back. And your lord is with them. They will be wanting their supper.”
Nell glanced up. By the light of the fire she could see Beaudene hunkered down on his heels, talking to the other men. He looked up briefly, the light reflecting in his amber eyes as he stared at her across the flames. Half-formed plans raced through her mind like clouds before the wind. All were dangerous. All risked Beaudene’s wrath. And one in particular might risk her very soul—if she possessed the courage to carry it out.
“See if you can keep them there a while,” she said softly. “Long enough for me to find some money, if there is any to be found.”
Bess smiled faintly. “A wise man keeps his purse close, lady. You may take it from me. But I’ll do my best.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bess was right. There was no money in the packs.
Nell had just discovered that fact for herself when the door was pushed open and Beaudene strode into the hut. He pulled up short at the sight of her crouched over his belongings, candle in hand.
She stared up at him, frozen with dismay, before she managed to force herself to her feet.
He pushed the door closed without taking his eyes off her. “Find what you’re looking for?” he enquired in a soft tone that sent a chill down her spine.
“I…I thought to dry this,” she stammered, snatching desperately at the excuse when she realized his black surcoat was clutched in her hand. “’Tis still damp.”
His eyes narrowed. “Interesting.”
“What?”
“You don’t lie very well.”
Saints above, if he only knew. The last three years of her life were a lie.
Something deep inside her shuddered once and went still.
“What are you looking for, princess?”
“Money,” she declared bluntly, refusing to be intimidated.
“Money?” Beaudene’s brows went up. “You’re looking for payment before you deliver?”
She frowned. “I don’t expect payment for finding out about these people. Besides, I have little enough to tell, probably less than what you gathered for yourself.”
There was an odd little silence. Before she could make out the expression in Beaudene’s eyes, he took a step toward her. “Why money, princess? Were you thinking of buying your way out of here?”
“Of course not. ’Tis not for me. Besides, we cannot leave tonight, anyway.”
“This grows more interesting by the moment.” He took another step forward. “Let me guess. You’ve decided to give your cousin a sporting chance at catching you.”
“What in Christendom are you talking about?” Nell demanded. She suddenly noticed how close he was and took a step back. “You’ve been outside…spoken to those men. ’Tis surely obvious why we can’t leave. There are people dying here for lack of proper medicines and care. They need help.”
“From you? By the saints, woman, you can’t even get dressed without injuring yourself.”
His tone stiffened her spine. “I fell over this morning because of your sneaky habit of creeping up on me,” she retorted through set teeth. “Strange though it may seem, my lord, I am not entirely useless. I promised to help Bess with the sick and wounded and that is what I intend to do.”
He stared at her frowningly for a moment, then reached out and plucked his surcoat from her hand. “Forget it, princess.” He tossed the garment onto his pack. “You can play the ministering lady of the manor some other time. Outlaws take care of their own.”
“Not when they lack medicines and the knowledge of how to use them. You don’t know what it’s like out there. The children… You haven’t seen…” Oh, how could she make him listen?
She whirled and dumped the candle on the table. “You go then, if you fear my cousin’s pursuit, but I am staying here! This is not last night, my lord. You can threaten to knock me senseless all you like, but if you make one move to take me away, I will scream loud enough to be heard in London.”
She had gone too far. She knew it the instant Beaudene’s eyes went a fierce, glittering gold. He took one stride forward, his expression so furious she backed against the table with enough force to set the candle rocking. He shoved it aside with an impatient curse and loomed over her.
“Stop that!” she cried, struggling to keep some distance between them without touching him. ’Twas well-nigh impossible. She would have to push him away—an impossibility in itself—or lean back on her hands, leaving her lower body vulnerable to the pressure of his. Panic fluttered in her throat. “You’re trying to frighten me, and I won’t have it!”
“I’m trying not to strangle you,” he bit out, planting both hands on either side of her hips as if his grip on the table was the only thing stopping him from wrapping them around her throat. “God’s blood! If a man accused me of fearing that cup-shotten cousin of yours he’d be choking on his own tongue.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Aye, you damn well did!”
“Nay! I was only trying…” She faltered, gazing up at him in unconscious appeal. “I know you are not afraid for yourself,” she said with simple honesty.
Some of the fierceness left his gaze and he moved back a little. “So you know that much, do you?”
She took a cautious breath. “’Tis your duty to me that you’re thinking of, but don’t you see? If we tarry here for a few days Thomas will go right past us. Why—” A smile suddenly spread across her face as a wondrous realization struck her. “We can even go to Wells and—”
“Stop right there.”
“But it couldn’t be simpler.” Carried away with her plan—and ruthlessly quelling a little voice in her head that was reminding her of the disastrous consequences of her last brilliant idea—she swept on. “Just think! While we’re in Wells, Thomas will discover that I haven’t arrived at Hadleigh Castle, and he’ll race off to Wells because that’s where he was to escort me first. Then while he’s searching for me there, we can take a different route to my home.”
A ripple of gleeful laughter bubbled over as she thought about it. “’Tis the perfect reckoning. Tom will be chasing us around in circles and he won’t even know it.”
Beaudene did not appear inclined to share her mirth. “And if he goes first to Wells, as you intended?”
“Why would he do that?” she asked, widening her eyes with guileless innocence. “He will expect us to run straight for Hadleigh. Who would be foolish enough to make a detour to Wells when they’re being pursued?”
He was suddenly very close again. “Who, indeed?” he purred, with a smile as dangerous as his tone.
Nell had the grace to blush, even though she continued to watch him with unabashed hope. She was rewarded by the genuine, albeit reluctant, smile that tugged at his mouth.
“I hate to admit it, princess, bu
t your strategy is rather sound, up to a point.” Before she could ask what point, he fixed her with a steely stare that held a good deal of skepticism. “Do you possess knowledge of medicines, in truth?”
“Aye. Our nursemaid at Langley taught me.” Seeing the skeptical gleam still lingering, she added, “I was interested.”
“Damned inquisitive, more like,” he growled. “So, how do you intend to obtain what you need?”
“Well—” Just in time she remembered his opinion of her ability to tell lies. “Bess is arranging it,” she amended hastily. Which was nothing less than the truth. “And she will repay you when their leader returns. Did those men tell you what happened?”
“Aye, but little else.” He straightened and looked down at her. “I didn’t expect more. This is an outlaw camp. People come and go and no one asks questions. Or if they’re foolish enough to do so they find the answers at the point of a dagger.”
“Bess told me enough,” she murmured. “You call these people outlaws, and I suppose they do rob to survive. But would we be any different if we’d been abused by a master like my uncle, for instance? He mistreats his people—family, servants, minstrels, it makes no difference. And animals. We had a performing dog once, and a monkey. Uncle Edward bought them from a travelling jongleur for my cousins’ pleasure. The night the jongleur left, I sold them back to him for less than my uncle paid for them.”
“And was punished for it?”
Nell shrugged. “A beating. But it saved the poor creatures from a miserable existence. I would do it again.”
“Aye. I verily believe you would.” He reached out to tilt her chin up on the edge of his hand. “Very well, lady, you have one day.”
“But—”
“One day. No longer. I will admit to some curiosity about our absent host, which accords with our staying here, but if he hasn’t returned by this time tomorrow, we’re leaving.” His gaze dropped to her mouth and he lifted his hand to stroke his thumb across her lips in a fleeting caress. “Make sure Bess knows what she needs to know by then, because after that she’ll be on her own.”
Nell nodded. She couldn’t speak; could scarcely breathe. Beaudene was still so close she could feel the heat of his body. It seemed to wrap around her, holding her motionless. Her lips pulsed gently where his thumb had touched, and she felt strange, on edge, as though waiting for something to happen.
Her gaze lifted to find him watching her, his golden eyes shadowed by half-lowered lashes. With an effort she tore her gaze from his to glance at his packs.
“I will need some money for Bess,” she whispered.
“I know. But first…” Without warning, he grasped her about the waist and lifted her to sit on the table. Before Nell could do more than gasp, he placed his hands on her knees, pushed her legs slightly apart and stepped between them.
She cried out in shock and tried to scramble backward, but he cupped the back of her neck with one hand. Holding her gently captive, supporting her weight without effort, he exerted the lightest pressure to draw her close again.
“Nay!” She lifted her hands to push frantically at his shoulders. Beneath the soft wool of his surcoat the unyielding power of his body was frightening. Driven by blind instinct, she swung her foot and kicked him.
He laughed, a low, husky sound that caused her to tremble with the knowledge of her own helplessness.
“A mouse wouldn’t have felt that,” he said. “Relax, princess. I’m too close for you to do any damage.”
“Let me go,” she ordered, in a voice somewhere between a whisper and a squeak. The aforementioned mouse would have doubled over laughing. Merciful saints, she had to think of a way out of this new predicament. But Beaudene’s gentle, reassuring tone, combined with the far from reassuring vulnerability of her position, rendered her incapable of reasoned thought.
“That’s better,” he murmured, as she went still. “You don’t want to develop a kink in your neck from looking up at me. Now we can talk in comfort.”
“Talk? What about?”
He smiled straight into her eyes. “It seems to me that I have made most of the concessions here.”
Somewhere in the whirling confusion of her mind, honesty compelled her to admit he was right. Wariness kept her silent on the subject.
“That being so,” he continued. “I think a little recompense is in order.”
“Rec— But I’m not…you can’t…”
“That’s the way it works, princess. Surely you know that. If you would be mistress of your fate you will have to learn the ways of bargaining.”
“Bargaining?” She stiffened, realizing only then how limp she had become. The knowledge added to her sudden sense of outrage, sending a healthy surge of temper through her. Was he playing with her? Punishing her for getting them into this situation?
But when she opened her mouth to inform him she was not so easily defeated, he moved his hand, stroking the sensitive skin of her nape beneath her hair, and she was helpless again. Weak and shivering. What was he doing to her that she couldn’t fight him, couldn’t seem to do anything except feel? All her senses were focused on his hand—the hard strength of his fingers, the gentleness of his touch.
The contrast between the two enthralled her. And the longer he held her the more she became aware of other contrasts. How small she felt so close to him, how soft to his hard muscularity, how utterly female to his male.
The last was so strong, so primitive, ’twas frightening. Never had she been so conscious of a man, no matter how close they were. Not even this morning when Beaudene was teasing her had she been so aware of him, so aware of her own femininity.
She looked up, words of protest trembling on her tongue, and forgot every one of them. His mouth was only inches away. Her own lips suddenly felt soft and pliant and warm. Shaking, she forced her gaze higher, and nearly cried out at the burning intensity in his eyes. They held her gaze for a second longer, and then there was something…something almost questioning…something searching.
“Strange,” he murmured, so softly she wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or to himself. “You can’t lie convincingly, and yet you look…”
He fell silent, then shook his head slightly. “Mayhap ’tis because I startled you.” His gaze lowered to her mouth and he bent closer. “Let’s see what happens when I startle you like this, princess.”
His mouth touched hers, gently, softly, and withdrew.
Braced for another assault, she was stunned by Beaudene’s tenderness. She went still, scarcely breathing, as his lips returned to stroke hers with a light, brushing movement, tantalizing, tempting her with the promise of warmth, of closeness, of a gentleness she had never expected from a man. But wanted. Oh, sweet. She wanted it, but…
Half-alarmed by the unfamiliar longing that was increasing with each caress of his mouth, she tried to draw back, only to find that his hold was too secure. Between the gentle but inexorable hand at her nape and the solid barrier of his body she was trapped. How could that be, she wondered hazily, scarcely noticing that her mouth was beginning to follow his, instinctively seeking a firmer touch. She could understand helplessness when he’d overwhelmed her, but this?
She trembled, and a tiny sound, need and doubt combined, caught in her throat.
“Sssh,” he murmured. His warm breath fanned her lips with a different kind of caress, sending yet another cascade of shimmering sensations through her. “Don’t be afraid, Nell. This won’t be like before. I was…angry.” He stroked his lips across hers again. “Open your mouth,” he whispered. “Let me taste you.”
“Nay, I—”
He stole the words as he took her mouth, in a slow possession that made her shiver uncontrollably. But not with fear. She had never dreamed of a kiss like this. He left no part of her mouth untouched, claiming it with a gentle aggression that sent lightning strokes of pleasure through her with every gliding caress of his tongue against hers. Pleasure and a sweet, hot weakness that had her clinging, melting, yea
rning for the hardness of his body against hers. She whimpered again, the sound lost in his mouth, and felt the powerful muscles in his arms tense as though he would pull her closer.
Then, slowly, lingeringly, he ended the kiss. His hands shifted to her wrists, unlocking her arms from about his neck, and he put her away from him, stepping back with a care that spoke of rigid control.
Nell forced her eyes open. Her eyelids were heavy, but her body felt light, and quivered inside with a strange heated restlessness. She stared at Beaudene. At the big, powerful hands that had caged her so carefully, at the hard, sharply chiseled mouth that had kissed her with such shattering intimacy, at eyes—
Reality swept back like a blast of freezing air. And the chill went straight to her soul. His eyes were darker than usual, but he watched her with an expression that held more frowning assessment than heated desire.
She remembered the way her arms had been clinging around his neck—she didn’t even known how they’d got there—while he had held her with nothing more than one casual hand supporting her head, the other braced on the table beside her. The chill was replaced by a wave of embarrassed heat that started at her toes and swept upward so fast she felt ill. She could not go on looking at him.
And he, it seemed, had looked his fill at her. Without a word he turned on his heel and strode to the door. He reached into his surcoat as he yanked the door open, withdrew a few coins, and tossed them onto the pallet. They landed with a musical tinkle that, to Nell, sounded like a discordant clash of cymbals.
“Your money, lady.” His voice was as cool as the night air sweeping in through the doorway. The draft was abruptly cut off when the door snapped shut behind him.
For several minutes she could only sit there looking at the coins glinting faintly in the dim candlelight. The heat and restlessness were gone. Now she felt cold. She knew the money was to pay for the herbs she needed. Why, then, did she have the terrible feeling she had just been paid for that kiss?