The Locket and the Flintlock

by Rebecca S. Buck

  Lucia gasped and lifted herself on her elbows. Len smiled, for she could see enough of Lucia’s expression to know she was not alarmed.

  “Do I offend your modesty, Lucia?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you command me to desist?”

  “No. I cannot forget I am in your power.” There was a hint of musical laughter in Lucia’s tone, but there was also a need, a desire which called to Len powerfully.

  “That is true.” Her hand found the tender inside of Lucia’s thigh. She was rewarded with another satisfied yet needy gasp.

  “Do you mean to ravish me?”

  “Yes.” Len’s hand moved higher still, easing Lucia’s thighs apart. Lucia did not resist for a moment. Her sheer trust moved Len, stirred the heat low in her abdomen. “Do you know what it is to be ravished Lucia?”

  “I do not.”

  Her realisation of Lucia’s total innocence caused Len to hesitate for a moment. “I would not hurt you.”

  “I wish to learn.” Lucia’s whole body stirred with impatience.

  “I can show you.” Len heard her own voice trembling.

  “Then I beg you, do so without delay,” Lucia said. Len could do nothing but obey. She pushed higher, shifting the material of Lucia’s skirts out of the way, until her fingers found the heat and moisture she sought. Lucia was satin soft against her fingers, and Len could feel the swollen wetness of her desire.

  “Breathe, Lucia,” she murmured, aware suddenly that Lucia had stopped doing so. Lucia gasped at the air as Len’s fingers moved, and Lucia arched her back, one hand reaching for Len, finding her arm and squeezing hard. That pressure was an encouragement, not a warning.

  Len left her hand where it was as she moved to lie on the bed with Lucia, her body still half covering her. She slipped one arm under Lucia’s neck to hold her closer, feeling Lucia’s skin sticky against her sensitive breasts. She kissed Lucia’s forehead as she moved her fingers lower, exploring, hesitating slightly.

  “You would give me everything?” she whispered. She could feel Lucia’s body pulling her inside.

  Lucia nodded frantically. “Yes. Everything.”

  Len eased her fingers forward gently, feeling Lucia’s body resist the invasion, before welcoming it with a flood of silky moisture. Emotion built in Len’s chest, and her eyes stung with unshed tears she could not explain to herself as she kissed Lucia’s soft lips. Lucia tensed in her arms and moaned again, but Len did not hesitate this time. She slid her fingers deeper. Lucia’s hips rose and her kiss became hungry, encouraging Len further. Len was filled with want, to show Lucia the fulfilment of those so-very-apparent desires. Before they slept tonight she would reveal to Lucia the mysteries of her body, and in doing so she knew she would find greater satisfaction for herself than she had on any night for many a year. Lucia sighed and writhed in her arms. Len kissed her harder and drew out another sigh with her fingers. Heat pulsed through her, and she recognised the aggressive, wanton urges. But there was something else too. Her heart was full with more than the simple pleasure of a woman sighing at her touch. It was no use denying it. That she loved Lucia was a truth and a burden she would have to accept. It was a love that could go nowhere. But in these dark hours, it could at least find its full expression and fulfilment.

  *

  Lucia awoke with a start as the light seeped through the thick ivy. Len’s arm was heavy and warm across her chest. She followed its lines to Len’s naked shoulder and felt a thrill creep into her heart. She felt she should be ashamed of such a feeling, but she was not. She realised her own nakedness and pulled the blanket closer. Beneath the rough wool of the blanket, she felt the soft, heavy velvet of the travelling cloak. She allowed her fingers to caress it, as a smile she could not prevent spread onto her face.

  Len was breathing lightly and regularly. Her dark hair spread over her shoulders and cascaded over half of her face, which was turned towards Lucia. The light in the room was a greenish gloom but still she seemed flushed. Her eyelashes made perfect dark half-moons on her cheeks. Lucia was unsure whether the world would view Len as a handsome woman, but in those moments she was the most beautiful creature Lucia had ever seen.

  Gazing at her, Lucia remembered what had passed in the night. A dream, yet one she could not have dreamed until last night. Len had opened her mind and revealed so much to her. The physical sensations she was capable of astounded and thrilled her. And somehow her heart seemed open too, as though she could see it and understand it finally. For the first time she believed she knew a little of what was meant by real love. But was such a thing possible? It had been so clear in the night. In that glorious and surprising moment of crisis when Lucia had almost thought Len had killed her with pleasure, she had felt such clarity. This was perfection, the pinnacle of all she had ever wanted. In the morning light it seemed rather more confusing. Yet, looking at Len in her slumber, it was hard to dwell on the obstacles.

  Lucia pulled a warm hand from beneath the velvet of the cloak and touched Len lightly on her shoulder. Her eyes fluttered into wakefulness quickly. After a moment, she smiled.

  “Good morning,” Lucia whispered.

  “Good morning.” Len’s smile grew wider. “Where is your morality now, Lucia?”

  “You have stolen it from me.”

  “You risk these things when you make friends of thieves.”

  “I will not be returning home today,” Lucia said.

  “I was not going to ask you to.” Len rose to a sitting position, the blanket dropping to reveal the slight swell of her breasts. Lucia’s cheeks burned as she looked away. She felt Len’s fingers firm on her chin, turning her face back.

  “You are not ashamed?” Lucia heard uncertainty in Len’s question.

  “I did not think it was possible,” she said hesitantly, “and indeed, it should be shameful.” Lucia paused. “But I am not ashamed.”

  “Many more things are possible, Lucia, than you would dream,” Len said, as her fingers stroked the side of Lucia’s neck. Lucia grew warm at her touch. She watched Len’s expression. Her demeanour suggested no surprise at what had occurred between them.

  “But you knew…or you…” she said, wanting to understand but unsure what question to ask.

  “I knew nothing, Lucia, I only felt.”

  “But how did you…how could you possibly…?” Len looked away from her, closed her eyes briefly. A shadow passed over her expression. Lucia had seen that shadow once before when they had talked…talked of Hattie, the dressmaker. Realisation dawned quickly. “The dressmaker! Julian’s sister?” It was half a question, half an answer.

  “Yes,” Len murmured.

  “She was more than your friend. You loved her?”

  “Yes.”

  Lucia knew then Len had not merely been talking to Hattie when her father had happened upon them. She felt Len’s pain, her loss, her humiliation as a sharp tug at her own heart. Compulsively, she reached out and enclosed Len’s hand in her own. Len’s fingers tensed for a moment then entwined with hers.

  “I understand.” Did she? Lucia knew she could only imagine the pain Len had felt, first upon her father’s intrusion, her forced separation from Hattie, and then, terribly, on the death of the woman she loved. Could she love again after such tragedy? Lucia imagined Len being torn from her in similar circumstances and felt a cold, creeping terror.

  Then the horrible comprehension came upon her: Len was not hers; she had no claim on her. Lucia’s life was on such a radically different course to Len’s the likelihood of Len being wrenched from her grip was drawing ever closer. It had not occurred to Lucia to consider it for more than a passing moment before, but now everything had changed. She could not bear the thought of losing Len. She looked away from her, fighting the threat of overwhelming sadness.

  Len rose from the bed and Lucia watched her dress, pleased of the distraction from her melancholy reflections, marvelling at how the breeches, shirt, and waistcoat transformed the lines of her body—which tho
ugh it was angular, was yet still feminine—into the less distinct form she was used to. Now she contemplated it, Len did not appear wholly like a man, it was only she did not seem to be a woman. That was the secret of the illusion.

  When Lucia emerged from the cottage a short while later, to find Len in deep conversation with Julian not that far from the door, she was wearing a heavy, dark green velvet travelling cloak and soft leather boots, which were only a little too large for her feet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Tensions grew in the clearing throughout the next day. Lucia, trying to keep her distance while never letting Len out of her sight, heard Len’s voice raised on several occasions as she clashed with Bill Wilcock over some detail or another. She even heard hushed words of disagreement between Len and Julian.

  Despite the change in the nature of their relations with each other, Len still did not make Lucia party to the plans or the confrontations. Lucia found herself partly envious of the intimacy Len shared with Julian, mildly offended to be pushed aside so easily, and yet grateful she did not need to hear the terrible details or be involved in the arguments. She was well aware her presence was a complication for Len and Bill, but she knew now Len would not send her away. For that she was thankful. Whatever thoughts of home and the future troubled her, the thought of being parted from Len before it was necessary was one she could not countenance. Late in the morning, as she watched Len from a distance in animated but cheerful conversation with Julian, she knew she finally understood what love was. That she felt that love for a woman, an outlaw at that, did not feel so very remarkable. She could not deny the strength of the feeling. That such a feeling could never be carried with her into her day-to-day life was not something she chose to dwell on.

  For now, just watching Len, anticipating the touch of those hands, the feel of their bodies pressed close in the night, was enough. Everything about Len was wonderful. Her stride as she walked through the clearing, the shape of her legs in her breeches and boots, the angle at which she wore her tricorn, the self-assurance in her expression, the initial hostility with which she seemed to meet everyone who addressed her: Lucia was able to see all of these things anew, and she delighted in all of them. Once she had thought herself envious, however unlikely she was to don breeches and turn outlaw herself. Now she knew it was not envy, but love.

  *

  Early in the afternoon, William and Daniel, the frame-breaker—between whom a friendship seemed to have developed—had gone to gather wood so the fire might warm the men until the fateful Friday evening. The other men were immovable by the fire, rubbing their hands ferociously. Lucia was glad of the cloak and boots, however ill-gotten, and had even resorted to wearing the gloves. The stitching upon them was very fine, which gave her only a slight qualm when she considered what they would have cost their rightful owner.

  Len and Julian were standing aside from the other men, as Lucia noticed they so often did, talking easily. Julian appeared to be teasing Len, whose face was distinctly pink, and with a flash of anxiety Lucia wondered what it was about. Had Julian known the nature of the relationship between his sister and Len? Did he now come to understand what had taken place between Len and Lucia in the night? Tension squeezed her heart as she watched Len laugh at a casual comment he made. Not only would Lucia’s modesty be embarrassed for him to have understood what had occurred, she also felt a vicious jealousy. The secret was Len’s and it was hers. To tell it to Julian’s—or anyone’s—ears was to betray it, to sully it. The ferocity of the emotion tightened her throat and made it difficult to breathe.

  Determined to gauge how much Julian understood, Lucia was approaching them across the brittle carpet of leaves when she was intercepted by Bill Wilcock in the company of Stephen Dale, one of the younger frame-breakers, who was tall and broad-shouldered, with piercing blue eyes rimmed with red and underlined by dark shadows

  “You look ready for a carriage ride, miss,” Bill said, looking Lucia up and down. He had not really engaged her in direct conversation since their confrontation near the fire, and she was a little startled when he addressed her.

  “I am ready only to guard against the cold.” Lucia hoped to continue her steps towards Len and Julian. However, Bill moved to stand in front of her, and a little intimidated, she halted and glared at him. “What is it?”

  “No need to be so unkind, miss.”

  Lucia sighed and remembered Len had confided in her that she trusted Bill, even liked him. She moderated her expression. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve been wanting to speak with you.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re part of the scenery here it seems, whatever I have to say about it,” he began, “and since you don’t seem to be causing us any trouble, I’m happy to have you. Nice to have a pretty woman about, if you’ll forgive the sentiment.” He leered at Lucia alarmingly and she withdrew slightly. Stephen Dale smiled in a way she did not like. “But you see, I’m wondering what exactly you’re going to be doing while the rest of us take up arms and go to work. You going to stay here on your own? Because we might not be able to come back here, and I don’t like the idea of you being left here. Could you even find your way out of the forest?”

  “I am sure I could.” In truth Lucia was terrified by the notion she might have to do so.

  “And if I know her like I reckon I do,” he gestured with his head towards where Len stood, “she ain’t going to be letting you stay here alone, just in case. But equally, I don’t want you coming with us. Too dangerous.”

  “I will keep myself safe.”

  “He don’t mean dangerous for you, miss,” Stephen Dale put in. Lucia looked at him with some hostility. These were the first words he had spoken to her. She wondered if his concerns had prompted this address from Bill. However, the question he confronted her with was indeed a good one. She knew she had not really considered what she would do while the workshop was raided. She had certainly not contemplated the possibility this hideout would be abandoned. She truly had very little concept of exactly where in the forest they were, and the chances of her making it out safely were not good. She did not want to put the safety of the men—and, more particularly, Len—at risk. As she looked at Bill, bewildered, she was relieved when the rustle of leaves heralded Len and Julian’s arrival at their side.

  “Bill?” Len said. She tried to keep her tone friendly. Lucia’s discomfort could be plainly seen but she had to restrain her anger, her urge to defend, at least until she understood what Bill and Stephen wanted. “And Stephen too? How can Miss Foxe help you?”

  “Maybe you can answer for her?” Bill’s tone was challenging. Len knew he was unhappy with some aspect of the planned raid. That would not do. They had to work together, to cooperate and trust, if such a plot was to succeed.

  “They wish to know what I will do. During the attack,” Lucia said.

  Her eyes met Len’s, and it was all Len could do not to smile with the surge of emotion in her breast. God, but Lucia was beautiful. To know what lay behind that beauty gave her a joy she had not known she was still capable of feeling. But the joy was tainted with a sense of foreboding. Love had only led to sadness for her before. And now the threat to her elation was imminent and very real. For now, she had to appease Bill and Stephen. She made herself focus, looking directly at Bill as she spoke.

  “Of course they want to know.” She smiled in a way which suggested she had a ready answer for the question. She did not, of course, but she would not have Bill know that. She would not have him accuse her of what even she suspected was the truth: Lucia’s presence did cloud her judgement. There was no way to justify Lucia’s presence here, which could actually prove a danger to them all.

  Now Bill waited and Len sensed Lucia did too, to see what her answer would be. “Miss Foxe will accompany us, since I cannot countenance leaving her here alone. But you have told me there is a thicket near the workshop, where we will take cover. Miss Foxe will stay there, hidden. S
he will hold the horses.”

  Bill raised his eyebrows. Len wondered if he thought it strange that she had not wanted to reconnoitre the workshop and its surroundings before the raid and had merely accepted his description of the landscape. Of course, she knew it far better than any of the frame-breakers, though she still had not informed Bill who Hawkins was to her. Bill looked dubious about her plan. Len turned to Lucia who looked pale and frightened, probably imagining herself in the said thicket, witness to a frame-breaking raid. Neither Lucia nor Bill spoke.

  “Do you think that is a good idea?” Stephen Dale asked in the end, directing his question at Julian. His demeanour was agitated, as though he could not understand the casual manner his leader—and Len—adopted. Len would not have liked Stephen Dale in her band of men. She did not entirely trust him. Still, she had trusted Peter and Isaac, and that had led them all to this predicament. Was her judgement to blame? Was she about to make an even worse mistake in allowing Lucia to remain with her? But what would become of Lucia if she were to send her home now? What would become of her own heart?

  “Miss Foxe is under my protection,” she said firmly. “I think, in fact, we will need all of the men to attack the workshop, and it will be useful for her to attend to the horses.”

  “We have no horses to attend to.” Bill was clearly not satisfied with her answer.

  “We do and, therefore, in case we do not return, it is necessary we take them. They will aid in our escape should there be any trouble.” Len made herself sound more certain than she felt.

  “They will aid in your escape.” Stephen Dale looked angry.

  “They will aid us all, since it will be in our interest not to be found together.” As Len spoke she realised her words made good sense, and she grew in confidence. “A band of many men on foot will attack that workshop. Two or three well-dressed riders will hardly seem frame-breakers if the militia is called. And if we should meet the militia upon the turnpike, Julian will tell them we saw a large band of shadowy men some miles hence, in the opposite direction.”