by Kristy Tate
“I did not mean to be unkind,” Emory said softly.
Petra stared straight ahead and after a few beats of thickening silence said, “You were kind the night before. You gave me a ring.”
“To keep you safe.”
Her chin lowered a fraction, but she continued to take long, fast strides. “Safe wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe that night.”
“And yet, here we are, a few days past, quite safe.”
She pressed her lips together. “No thanks to you.”
He gave a small laugh. “And how, my lady, do you think you landed at the gatehouse?”
She looked at him then. He saw anger, perhaps wounded pride, in her eyes.
“I don’t know how you did that since I saw a man run a sword through you, but if you rescued me, why did you take me there?” She tramped ahead. When he didn’t respond, she pressed, “Why couldn’t I be safe with you?”
He racked his brain for something to say. Turn around, walk away, do not ever look upon her again, a voice in his head urged. He didn’t know if he was prolonging both of their pain by matching her stride for stride, but he didn’t listen to the voice. He couldn’t leave. “You are safe at the manor.”
She turned, fists clenched at her side. “With the men who ordered a gypsy hunt?”
“They would never harm you.”
“And you would?”
“To your reputation I should cause irreparable damage --”
“And Anne’s reputation? What about that? She gets to roll around in the hay with you, but I have to be packed off to the manor for safe-keeping?”
Emory’s voice turned hard. “I assure you, Anne and I were not rolling in hay.”
Petra sniffed. “You were with her, alone. Hay must have been involved because I saw it on her skirt.”
Emory didn’t answer.
“Besides, how can I have a reputation when no one here knows me?” Petra asked.
“They will come to know you,” Emory said softly. “They will grow to love you.”
She flounced away. “I don’t want to know them!” she flung over her shoulder. “I don’t want them to know me, let alone love me.”
He caught up to her in two steps.
“And who is the ominous They?” she asked. “Who are you worried about offending?”
“Everyone lives by the rules dictated by society --”
“You say that, but I don’t think it’s true.” Petra stopped in front of him and pointed her finger at his chest. “Not for you, at least. You might think it’s true for me and all mere mortals like me, yet somehow you’re above all that.” Reaching out, she jabbed him in the belly where the sword wound should have been.
He didn’t flinch. Too late, he realized he should have.
“You saw Black Shuck,” she made it sound like he’d committed high treason. “Why didn’t you die?” Taking a step closer she lowered her voice. “Why are you immune to the devil dog?”
He shook his head and said softly, “Do not mock what you don’t understand.”
She stood directly in front of him, her face lifted. A frisson tingled through him. One step back, take the step, one and then two, do it. The voice, normally so effective, didn’t sway him. He couldn’t leave.
Maybe that’s why it was so surprising when she did. She was able to do what he dare not. He watched her go.
***
Petra prided herself on grand exits. She knew she did them well. Nothing said “you’re zilch to me” as a little butt-swagger. No looking back. Looking back made the grand strut a lie. So when she looked back, she told herself she was looking for Garret and Anne with a cautious over the shoulder glimpse. When she saw Emory’s attention fixated, not on her butt as it should be, but on a dusty wagon filled with straw, she flushed with anger.
Slowing, she considered her options. Backtrack to find Anne and Garret or go to the manor? She could look for Rohan and try to persuade him to help her go home, again. Not that she would know where to find him.
The manor’s towers poked up over a distant hill. She supposed if she stayed on the same road she’d get there eventually. Garret wouldn’t be there, but Chambers might be. Despite the warm sun, she shivered. She knew it was wrong to dislike someone because of their eyebrows, but she did. If she went to the manor, she’d be forced to hide in her room to avoid Chambers.
The dusty road passed farmhouses and barns. Her shoes weren’t the walking type and after a few minutes, she stopped and leaned against a fence to remove them. Balancing on one foot, she slipped off her shoe and rubbed her tender heel. She looked up in time to see a hay wagon disappearing into a barn.
A crouching shadow crossed the field. Straightening, Petra watched. The shadow moved to the barn’s gaping entrance. Petra stepped closer, just in time to see Emory slip inside.
Crouching, creeping, skulking— stalker words. Why would Emory stalk a hay wagon? It had to have something to do with the horsemen she’d seen him watching earlier. Her cheeks flamed. Covert action. She’d read the term in some book and she’d never had a reason to use it before, but it seemed to fit. Emory had used her for covert action. He and Anne had acted all friendly, but really they were hiding from the horsemen.
Petra climbed the fence and after a careful look for the bull, trailed Emory to the barn. Horses and cows milled around the pasture. The bull, a distant lump of brown, dozed in the shade of an oak.
A sheep trotted forward to inspect Petra’s gown. Then, as if reading Petra’s mood, bleated away. Petra peeked inside the barn. Dark and smelly, the barn appeared mostly empty, except for a hay wagon.
She caught sight of a pair of pitchforks stabbing and lifting hay off the wagon. She could only see the tops of the hats belonging to the two men. No sign of Emory, she thought, searching the barn’s dark corners for movement. A ladder ran to a loft filled with hay. She watched the shifting straw. Not even a breeze moved through the barn.
“Chambers, he be wanting this loaded onto a boat,” the man in the straw hat said. “Must be some boat.”
Chambers? Boat?
“Laws, man,” said the man in black hat. “I told you no names be mentioned!”
A pitch fork pointed at a cow watching them through an open window. “Who you think Betsy goin’ be telling? The King?”
A hand swooped off the straw hat and swatted the black hat with it. Black Hat speared the straw hat with his pitchfork and lifted it high into the air.
“Curse you, Darby!” The pitchfork and hat fell to the barn floor, sending up a spray of dust motes.
Petra squelched a sneeze and then another. Turning, she smacked into a broad chest.
An arm went around her waist, pulling her against him, a hand clasped over her mouth. She knew it was him. The arm around her waist was too tight and the hand on her mouth too fixed. She marshaled all her self-defense know-how and elbowed him in the abs. She grinned at his surprised woof. After a quick glance at the hats, who continued their pitch fork work without breaking rhythm or conversation she brought her elbow up to deliver a blow to his nose.
Emory caught her elbow and used it to drag her to the far side of the barn. She let herself go limp and when he was unguarded, she threw her arm back, breaking his hold. Breathing heavily, she faced him.
Emory rubbed his nose. “What are you doing here?” He spoke quietly yet forcibly. With his eyebrows lowered he looked so haughty she wanted to rub his nose in a cow pie. There were plenty to choose from. She thought quickly and remembered the one name she’d overheard from the hats. “Spying on Chambers,” she whispered, watching his reaction. He took a step back, obviously surprised. She took a step toward him. “What are you doing here?”
He glared.
“If I scream those men with pitchforks will make short work of you. Maybe you’re not afraid of pitchforks, but I bet you’re afraid of Chambers.” She cocked her head. “Why?”
He shook his head and ran his hand through his hair. “Why what?”
“
Why aren’t you afraid of pitchforks? Why are you interested in the hay wagon? What is Chambers loading onto a boat?”
He didn’t reply and so she continued. “I could help you, you know. I’m staying at the manor. I could spend much more time with Chambers…not that he’s pleasant company, but I could keep my eye on him.”
“Keep your eye on him,” he repeated slowly, a smile tugging at his lips. “That sounds uncomfortable.” He reached for her, but she twisted away.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes. I find it frightening that I do.” He folded his arms across his chest.
She mimicked his stance. “Tell me what’s going on or I scream.”
He tugged her to a stand of trees where they could talk above whispers. “You are going back to the manor.”
She took a deep breath. “One.”
He fought back a smile. “One what?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Tell me by the count of three, or I scream.”
“Don’t be a fool.” He looked toward the barn, uncertain.
“Two.” She took a step closer to him. “I’m not a fool. I’m an AP scholar and top student in my honors English course.” Tears sprang to her eyes when she considered the muddle she was in and far removed she felt from her real life.
“I do not know what any of that means, but I think you mean me to be impressed.” Emory rubbed his nose again.
Petra blinked back another tear. This surprised her. She never cried, but everything was a huge mishmash. She felt like she’d lost not only her way home, but also her identity. Taking another deep breath, she steadied herself and opened her mouth to scream. Screaming was better than crying.
Emory rushed forward, took her in his arms, and silenced her.
Chapter Sixteen
Scientists once believed that people found kissing pleasurable because kissing lips generate an electrical current. This may not be true, but kissing can be shocking.
—Petra’s notes
His mouth tasted warm and slightly of wine. A warning somewhere deep within her sounded, but she pushed it away.
“Why would you help me?” he asked softly and she felt his breath and the movement of his lips against her throat. His hands spanned her waist. Before she could answer, his lips found hers again and he bent her backward, leaning over her.
For a few dizzy seconds she couldn’t think of anything other than the kiss. “Everyone needs a little help,” Petra said, struggling to find her voice. His lips returned to her throat, trailed down the side of her neck and stopped below her ear.
“I do not want or need your help,” Emory said, running his hands up and down her back.
“Not exactly true,” Petra said, pulling away so she could see his face. “Kissing, for example, is very difficult to do alone. Tell me what you want with Chambers and I’ll kiss you again.”
He laughed. “You want to kiss me. Again.”
She backed away and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I think I learned in biology class that you want to kiss me more.”
He took a step toward her, and she bit her lip.
“Biology class? What other secrets did you learn in this biology class?”
She thought about everything science had learned since the 1600s and smiled. At the moment, she didn’t want to talk about micro-matter.
“Tell me your secrets, and I’ll tell you mine,” she said, trying to sound calm, despite the rioting inside. Self preservation told her to run. Her emotions told her to lean into him. Her sensible self said she didn’t know Emory and what she did know didn’t make any sense. But he could hurt her. A lot. I’m not safe with Emory, she told herself and managed to take two steps back.
“I’m sure you’d find my secrets impossible to believe,” he said in a ragged voice, running his hand through his hair.
“I’m pretty sure you won’t believe my secrets, either. I wouldn’t believe me, but you can trust me to spy on Chambers.”
He reached her in one step and placed his hands on either side of her face. Staring into her eyes, he said, “I don’t want you around Chambers --”
“You’re the one who put me there,” she reminded him.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she cut him off. “Tell me what to look for.” She leaned toward him and kissed him on the lips. Remembering what Rohan had said, she whispered, “I can help. Tomorrow Anne is coming to the manor with another tapestry. I can watch Chambers and pass information to Anne, but first, I need to know what I’m looking for. And why.”
“I am not as interested in Chambers as I am in you.” Emory let her go and turned. “I shouldn’t be interested in you. This is wrong.”
She touched his arm, gently. “I agree.” She steeled herself and tried to sound more rational than her clamoring emotions. She knew girls who hooked up with a different guy every weekend; they seemed to be able to casual kiss. That she’d never been interested in making out for make-out sake didn’t mean it couldn’t be done. Girls in the locker-room called it NCMO, noncommittal make-out. “A kiss can just be a kiss.”
“It wasn’t just a kiss for me.” He intertwined their fingers and rubbed his thumb on the inside of her wrist.
Her blood thrummed beneath his touch. “It has to be,” she said, squeezing his hand as he pulled her to him. “I don’t belong here.”
“But you’re here now.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “How long will you stay?”
She smiled. “Until I can find my way home. And until then, as long as I’m at the manor, I’ll help you with your Chambers problem.”
“Why?”
“You tell me.”
He sighed. “You mustn’t endanger yourself. Or take unnecessary risks.”
She frowned. Why is he such an adult? she wondered. Why does he act older than my dad?
Then he placed his hand on the back of her neck and kissed her deeply. Suddenly even putting him in the same sentence as her dad seemed creepy. He murmured, “Promise me or the discussion is over.”
She wanted him to kiss her again, but held his lips just a few inches away from hers. Finally, she said, “I promise I’ll be very, very careful.”
“Good.” He stepped away, and she felt cold without him near her. “Chambers is dangerous. Worse, he’s impassioned.”
“About what?”
“He wants to destroy the translations of the King James Bible.”
“The King James Bible?”
“You know of it?”
“Sure, the whole world knows of it.” Petra immediately realized her mistake.
He looked baffled. “How can that be? It has yet to be distributed.”
Petra thought quickly and avoided the question. Remembering the long and boring prayer Chambers had given over every meal at the manor, she thought, What a hypocrite. Why pray if you don’t believe?
Turning from Emory’s gaze, she stared up into the leaves of the alders and watched the shadows filtering through the branches. She didn’t know what she thought about God, but the universe seemed too perfectly balanced to exist without a creator. “Is Chambers an atheist? Is that why he’s trying to stop the translations?”
Emory held up his hand. “No more questions. Why would you say the whole world knows of the King James Bible, when I assure you, the whole world does not. A vast majority of the world knows nothing of any Bible.”
“That was a question.” Petra folded her arms across her chest.
He opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. Obviously, he’d told her more than he thought safe.
She was struggling too. She’d just met Emory and sometime soon, she had to return to Royal Oaks and never see him again.
Emory took a step closer. “What I meant was no more questions from you.”
“That’s a double standard, isn’t it? You’re allowed questions, but I’m not?” Petra backed away, and twigs snapped beneath her feet. He didn’t get to make up rules.
“That was, I believe, two quest
ions.” Emory stood in a shaft of sunlight, looking annoyed.
Petra sighed and wished they’d go back to kissing, but that didn’t seem right or responsible. “How’s this, I’ll answer every question you ask for every question you answer.”
He looked at her through narrowed eyes.
“You don’t have to play my game,” she told him, “but then I don’t have to play yours.”
He rolled his eyes, but nodded.
“Why weren’t you hurt when I saw the sword go through you?”
“Who said you got to go first?” He shook his head. “Where are you really from?”
“You already know that, Royal Oaks.” She stamped her foot. “I answered you, now you have to answer me.”
Looking up at the heavens, Emory said, “I am immortal.”
He had to be lying, yet goose-bumps rose on her arms.
“I believe it is your turn,” he said, his voice hard.
She sniffed and her voice wavered. “You don’t get to just say you’re immortal, because that doesn’t happen without... something.”
“Hmm.” He rubbed his chin. “Would you believe in pixie dust? Dragon’s blood? Or, perchance a magical potion?”
“If you have to think up options, you’re lying.”
“I gave you my answer. Do I get another question?”
“No!”
He took her hand and pulled her to him so that she rested against his chest. She thought about pulling away, but not much. She let his warmth swallow her.
“I refuse to play this fool’s game any longer,” he said.
“That’s because you’re lying and losing,” she said, smiling.
He wrapped his arms around her and lowered his lips to hers. “I definitely think I am winning. I am the victor.”
“Me, too,” she said, and for a few minutes, she felt lost to everything else.
“Come,” he said, pulling her with him. “I must return you to the manor.”
“And to my spy duties,” Petra said, smoothing down her dress.
Emory groaned. “Is there any chance you might remain in your room?”