by Grace Elliot
Shaking with exhaustion, the mare staggered to a halt. Eulogy felt bewildered, as the yard span slowly.
“Miss?”
A thick set man with a pugilist’s broken face strode towards her.
“Miss, is yer all reet?”
The fog of bewilderment Eulogy nodded, but couldn’t move, set like an ice statue in the saddle. A lad appeared at the mare’s head, rubbing her nose, leading her to cover.
“Miss, I’m going to ‘elp yer down. Ready now?”
Callused hands gripped her waist, lifting her from the saddle, but her legs buckled and refused to take her weight. The ostler grunted as he held her upright.
“Steady now, Miss. Tek a deep breath now.” His voice was rough but his tone kind.
“Chosen a reet night to be out, Miss, ain’t yer? Best get into the warm now.”
With a weak nod Eulogy accepted his arm, leaning heavily against him as he led the way.
They entered through a sturdy oak door and after the bitter cold of the storm, the heat was almost unbearable. The ostler led her across a dimly lit hall and helped her to sit in a battered leather armchair. Shapes moved around her, out of focus and shadowy.
“Wait here, Miss, an’ I’ll fetch yer some help.”
Eulogy mumbled thanks and reached for her reticule to give him a tip, but the man was gone, already engulfed by a noisy surge of men come spilling past from the bar. Laughing raucously, smelling of unwashed bodies and stale beer, a great hubbub of noise. She shrank deeper into the chair. Men. All around. Fortunately they were too busy carousing to notice a bedraggled waif in the corner. Laughing and joking, slapping each other’s backs in uproarious mood.
Then the smell of stale ale hit. She shivered. Her sluggish senses started to life. These were not gentlemen but drunken sots. Heavens this was no place for a woman alone! A room. She must get a room where she would be safe.
Unsteadily, she rose to her feet. In the warmth of the inn’s her redingcote, which had been stiff with ice started to thaw, dripping a trail of water across the tiles. Her petticoats sodden, her wet chemise clinging to her legs and impeding her movements. Trying to make herself as insignificant as possible she squirmed through the press of bodies making for a heavy oak desk, behind which stood a ruddy faced man in a leather apron, busy leafing through a ledger.
“Sir,” she spoke through chattering teeth. “A room if you please.”
Without looking up, the man shrugged and continued running a blackened fingernail down a column of figures. “All taken.”
Eulogy recognized rudeness when she saw it and squaring her shoulders she spoke firmly. “Sir, perhaps you misunderstand. I have travelled through a blizzard…I must have a room.”
The man frowned at his papers. “And you must understand Miss. There ain’t one.”
Eulogy sighed, pushing aside dreams of feather pillows and thick woolen blankets. “It needn’t be your best chamber. Anything will do...even an attic. Just a room and a fire.”
For the first time, the man she took as the landlord looked up. Thickset with a dragon tattooed around his neck, the man took in her disheveled appearance with a sneer. Leaning on one elbow, leering closer as if undressing her with his eyes, she faced a new danger. Had it not been for the raging blizzard, she would have left there and then.
“Well then, my pretty, look what the storm’s blown in.” His lecherous sneer made her uneasy. He mustn’t see how frightened and exhausted she was. With a fresh resolve Eulogy tipped up her chin, eyes blazing.
“A room…or shall I sleep with my horse?” Instantly, she regretted the words, clearly the stable was not safe.
The man smiled, revealing gaps between his blackened teeth. “Well I’d like to oblige but the inn is full. Cockfight in the village you see. Only the weather closed in. Everyone and ‘is dog wants shelter tonight. All rooms is took, but if you wanted to warm my bed I shouldn’t object.”
Eulogy gasped, clutching her arms across her chest. “How dare you!”
But the sound of a raised female voice momentarily silenced the commotion. A weasel-like man with lank greasy hair staggered toward her.
“A looker like you can bunk in wi’ me.” He slavered in her face, then lurching forward, draped his arm around her shoulders. Eulogy struggled, trying to shake herself free, but the man was surprisingly strong. A cry of despair escaped her lips. Her options were few and unpleasant: ride on in the teeth of a storm or be ravaged. The drunk, half fell against her, pinning her down with his weight. His breath stank of ale and onions and his clothes of rancid sweat.
“Release me!” Jabbing her elbow into his guts had no effect.
“I think not.”
Near-by men jeered, egging her assailant on.
Both arms were about her waist now, forcing her to arch away from his lecherous lips. She squirmed and kicked his shins, but to no effect. His bristly chin grated against her neck as he nuzzled and licked her tender skin.
“Get…off.” She shrieked, pummeling his chest. “Release me.”
His fingers pulled cruelly her hair, trying to force her mouth against his. She couldn’t breathe, her neck twisted to evade his rough probing. The world was growing dim, her mind withdrawing into itself from fear and exhaustion.
Then out of nowhere, a deep voice cut a swathe through the crowd.
“You heard the lady! Unhand her.”
Eulogy’s assailant sneered. “I saw her first.”
“I’ll ask nicely one last time, unhand her.”
On the edge of fainting, her vision enveloped in a grey fog, Eulogy wondered why the voice was familiar.
“Now why should I let such a tasty scrap out of my grasp?”
“Because,” the commanding voice continued, “that lady is my wife.”
The punch was swift and hard. The man crumpled unconscious to the floor with a look of surprise and a bloodied nose. For a moment, Eulogy wondered if she had passed out and this was a dream. But then Jack took her arm, supporting her weight as her legs crumpled.
“Jack, thank heavens you’re here.”
But instead of reassurance, Jack growled in her ear. “What are you playing at?”
“I…I came…to explain….”
“Fool!”
“Well if you’d, spoken, not left a note I wouldn’t have had to follow.”
Interest rippled through the assembled drunks. Keen to watch the impromptu entertainment, the crowd fell silent.
“So this is my fault?” Jack snorted, pushing Eulogy toward the staircase.
“Of course not,” Eulogy huffed, “but neither was it me acting the dolt, running away like that!”
Much to her chagrin the room grew suddenly fuzzy and as she passed out, she was dimly aware of being swept up into strong, protective arms.
-oO0Oo-
Cradling Eulogy’s limp body, his mind in turmoil, Jack carried her away from the leering drunkards. Had she not caused him enough pain? He wanted her so badly his bones hurt, and yet she was no good for him. She was a liar.
As he reached the second landing Eulogy stirred against his chest, and her eyes flickered open.
“What happened?”
“You fainted,” he said, without emotion.
“Oh, but please put me down now.”
Jack lowered her feet to the floor and dusted his hand. “Of course.”
“I’m so glad I found you.”
“It was foolish to follow.”
She slumped, her face grey with fatigue. “I had to, I couldn’t bear—”
“Save it. I don’t want to hear…”
“I should have told you a time ago, only I had to know you loved me for myself.”
As her lashes fluttered against a waxen cheek, Jack reminded himself she was no innocent, but a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and hardened his heart against her pleas. But doubt chipped away at his armor. She had followed him, which had to mean something, unless of course she was worried about Farrell losing his patronage.
“Thank you for helping me, it’s more than I deserve.”
“Indeed.” Huntley snorted.
Eulogy swayed, her shaking hands made the banister rattle.
“Miss Foster?” He reached out to steady her and recoiled, there was more warmth in a corpse. “Merciful heavens, you’re frozen!’
“Hardly…surprising,” her teeth chattered, “there’s a…blizzard…out there.”
Jack shrugged off his riding coat and draped it round her shoulders. She sagged under the weight.
“My room. Now.” No one made a fool of him and then died without making reparation. No, she must live to acknowledge her deception. Then, beneath the anger, dread touched his heart. He had no wish for her to die. A world without Eulogy would be a dull, dreary place.
He planted a hand in the small of her back and propelled her up more stairs and along a dark corridor. As he unlocked the oak door, Eulogy slid down the wall.
“Oh no you don’t.” Jack grasped her waist and dragged her inside the small, attic room.
The bedchamber beneath the eaves was sparsely furnished with soot-stained walls, bare floorboards and a leaded garret window. The furniture consisted of a truckle bed, a spindle back chair and Jack’s travelling trunk. A weedy fire flickered in the grate, doing little to warm the draughty room. After pulling the chair beside the hearth and seating Eulogy on it, he addressed the hearth, prodding the embers, adding logs, working away until licking orange flared into life.
Once the fire caught, like a waxen doll Eulogy extended her hands. Only then did Jack fully appreciate the extent of her sodden clothing. His heart squeezed with alarm, and then he hated himself for caring.
“Out of those wet things,” he ordered gruffly.
“I have nothing else to wear.”
“Humph. I’ll find something.” Ignoring a flutter of alarm, Jack threw back the lid of his trunk.
“Here. These will do.” He pulled out a pair of breeches and a shirt. “They aren’t what you’re used to, but they’re dry.” Holding the garments at arm’s length, he waited. Slowly, Eulogy met his eyes.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she whispered.
Disarmed by her fragility, Jack reeled. “Later.” He grimaced. “Now get out of those wet things.”
“Then please turn your back.”
Jack drifted to the window, staring blindly into the whirling darkness. White flakes melded to the glass, setting into icicles as cold as his heart. Behind him a sodden riding habit slapped to the floor. His flesh prickled at the creak of stays, the suck of a wet chemise being peeling from damp skin. He shivered as an image of her pale, slender form disrobing teased his senses. Heat washed over his skin as he dug his fingernails into his palms. How he wished things had turned out differently.
Guilt sat heavy in his craw. If she became ill, it would be his fault. He shouldn’t have left that note, the act of a coward. He should have broken the engagement in person, she deserved that. Angrily he pushed sympathy aside. Remember, she had deceived him, broken his trust and he owed her nothing! If she chose to follow through a blizzard, then more fool her! Then, despite stoking his anger, it started to cool. She had come after him, not the act of a woman who didn’t care. At least he should hear her out.
“Mr. Huntley, you may turn around.”
Shivering before the fire, her brown eyes searched his for some remnant of tenderness, her expression fell. Rigid and immoveable, Jack merely grunted.
Her face crumpled. “Why are you treating me thus? You are the one who left and broke the engagement. Truly, you owe me an explanation.”
“Pah!” Jack railed. “You know well enough or is your web of deceit so tangled you no longer know truth from lies?”
Eulogy shuddered, her face pale as paper. “I deceived no one…unless…” Then, with a cry, her slender hand flew to her mouth.
Jack nodded bitterly. “See! The truth will out.”
“Oh Jack,” she cried, “I tried tell you…to explain…but it was never the right time.”
“Too late,” he cut in. “I know all about your sordid past…and the shame of it was that had you trusted me, I loved you enough to put your past behind us.” He spoke the truth, he knew that now but it only heightened the pain.
“Sordid?” Eulogy steadied herself against the mantelshelf. “I don’t understand? Sad, but never sordid?”
“So you deceive even yourself?” Jack turned on her.
“How can a mother’s sacrifice be sordid? And I only deceived you because I wanted you to love me for myself, not for my family and then I found out how repellant my brother truly is and I worried you would challenge him.”
“Family?” Jack guffawed. “What has family to do with anything? And what brother?”
Further questions went unasked, as Eulogy swooned and slid gracefully to the floor. With a cry he leapt across the room, scooping her crumpled form into his arms, carrying her to the bed.
Once under the weight of blankets, she shook until her teeth rattled and she lapsed in and out of unconsciousness.
“Idiot!” he cursed himself. “Arguing whilst she was freezing.”
Jack chaffed her icy hand.
“Soon have you warm.”
She fell quiet and his heart sank. He threw his coat over her still form before stacking the last of the logs onto the grate and set the fire roaring. Kneeling by her side, real fear gripped Jack as he watched the feeble rise and fall of her chest. He stoked the fire again until the room grew stuffy with heat, condensation trickling down the window.
“Eulogy.” He crept to the bedside, anxiously taking her hand, and she squeezed it back. The relief was monumental but she was still in danger. Heat! She needed warmth and the log basket was empty.
“I’m going for more wood. I’ll lock the door and be as quick as I can.”
“Promise?” her voice croaked. “You will come back?”
A lump stuck in his throat. “You have my word.”
It didn’t take long to find a lad to do his bidding, a silver coin proved most persuasive and Jack procured not only logs, but beef, bread, soup and a snifter of brandy. He returned to find Eulogy still clutching the covers up to her chin, eyes closed. She looked so frail and beautiful, her hair drifting about the pillows, framing her face and he ached to hold her.
Jack shook himself. What was he thinking? Had he already forgotten why he had fled from her? Eulogy was his fatal weakness, his Achilles heel. She would make a fool of him again. Framing a gruff expression, he set the tray by the bed.
“Soup. To warm your insides.”
“Thank you.” She stirred.
Logic unraveled at the sound of her voice, he just wanted to protect her. As she lifted the spoon, he turned away and busied himself spreading her garments before the fire. With precious little to drape them over he pulled over the trunk, placing the chemise and riding habit over the lid. The stays, he reasoned, were not essential, especially with a figure as trim as Eulogy’s, why her curves deserved to be worshipped not constrained. With an inward groan, he chastised his weak male will.
“Are you all right?” she asked quietly.
“Of course.” At a loss for what to do next, he sat on a spindle back chair that was quite dwarfed by his large frame. “Why wouldn’t I be?” he said more aggressively than he intended.
“No reason.” Eulogy pushed the bowl away. “You are very angry with me.” It was a statement, not a question.
Jack’s lips thinned. “We will talk later, when you are rested.”
Sitting up in bed, the fine linen shirt outlined her unbound breasts. Jack felt the stirrings of desire and bit his tongue. They exchanged glances. He watched as her mouth fell and the glow left her eye and hated himself, but he had no choice. Her lies had seen to that.
“You should sleep.”
“And you? Where will you sleep?” she asked.
“The chair will suffice.”
Eulogy slid deep under the blankets and fell asleep within seconds.
Night fell and the blizzard continued to rage. Snow drifts, several feet deep, cut off the inn. In a mean attic room, the thin curtains flapped and the window rattled, as Jack wiped Eulogy’s brow. By candlelight, he watched and waited. From time to time he leant close, holding his cheek against her mouth, checking for the faint tickle of breathing. He watched, as if he was keeping her alive by the sheer force of his will.
As the hours passed the shuddering shivers eased and her breathing became more regular. When he held the candle nearer to her face, she stirred and without thinking, he stroked her forehead and muttered words of comfort. Startled, he drew back. What was this hold she had over him? With a sinking heart he answered his own question; he loved her. He shook his head. What had she said, about family, about a brother? Was it the fever talking? Jack frowned. She was right, he owed her an explanation, but in return, she owed him the truth. Yawning, he cast around for a means of staying awake as the wooden floor began to look tempting for a sleep.
Sometime later Jack wasn’t sure what woke him. Perhaps it was the eerie blue-grey light, or feelings of guilt. He stirred and his muscles ached. Slowly, so as not to disturb the figure slumbering next to him, he stretched and in an instant was fully awake. With horror he found himself stretched against Miss Foster, curved together like spoons, his arm draped over her curved hip. Cursing quietly, he disentangled his hand, only to find her wide brown eyes regarding him without blinking.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “I won’t hold you to anything.” She released the hand which had been clutching hers.
A pulse pounded in Jack’s temple. “I hope you didn’t misconstrue my actions…”