“Why did you let me think Rory was taking me out here at first?” she asked.
He looked at her but didn’t answer. Alex sighed. She didn’t know why she wasted her breath asking him questions, as he bothered to respond only when it suited him.
Burke sat on the ground, propping his back against a tree and stretching his long legs before him.
“The brook is just through the brush that way,” he said pointing. “And take warning ...”
“I’ve already had the text from Rory.” She hesitated, then sat at Burke’s feet. He watched her warily, not objecting, but merely observing her movements closely.
“You speak such fine English, like a gentleman. How came you by that knowledge?” Alex asked.
“Does it offend your ears to hear a savage speak like an English gentleman?” The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.
“I was merely . . . surprised. How did you learn?”
Burke leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. He knew it was a mistake to talk to her, to treat her as a person, as anything other than an object to be traded for his brother. But he was tired of the soldier’s life—the brutish conversation of the men, the crude meals gobbled over open fires, the single-minded pursuit of the enemy. It allowed for little else. Surely a small respite from all that would not be harmful.
“My mother worked in the kitchens at the castle when I was a boy,” he said. “Carberry’s lady, now dead, took a fancy to her and had her as a maid for years. I learned your language in her chambers.”
This explained his upper-class accent and vocabulary, most peculiar to his situation.
“And Rory?”
“Rory is my cousin; his mother was my mother’s sister. She worked at the castle, too. He and I practice the language and speak it to each other when we can.”
“So Lord Carberry knows you.”
A satisfied smile touched his lips. “Aye. He knows me, and all of mine. He’ll know more of us in time.”
The manner in which he spoke sent a chill down her spine.
“Why can’t you give it up, this fighting?” she asked softly.
“Would you, if it were your own country in the hands of a foreign power?”
Alex shook her head. “I know little of such things. Politics and government were not thought fit subjects for my study. I’ve learned naught but needlework and homely duties, a little music, some Spanish and French for conversation, the preparation of medicines and recipes ...”
“Hadn’t you cooks in your uncle’s house?”
“Yes, but I learned to make fancy dishes, such as would please a man and adorn his table for fine occasions.”
“And what are they?”
She smiled. “Do you think I dissemble? Are you demanding examples?”
“I am.”
“Very well. I can prepare a dressed partridge stuffed with grouse and served with a sauce of leeks and Madeira wine, a custard-and-whey posset with pressed currants, a cream comfit of cherries and quince pears, venison pasty....”
Burke made a disgusted face. “Fancy fare. I’d rather a boiled fowl and a glass of stout. What else did you study?”
“Latin to read the classics and for church service. Prayers. My uncle is a devotee of the new learning.”
Burke snorted. “Religion. An excuse to be a coward.”
“You have no religion?”
He gestured to the woods around them. “In the old days we worshiped the trees and the stones.”
Alex laughed. “You worshiped objects?”
“In the time of the Druids, Celtic people felt the power of nature in the natural things around them. It’s no more foolish than worshiping a God you never see.”
“They do say that in the Welsh Marches there are people with speckled skins and webbed feet who worship a goddess who demands human sacrifice.”
“Who says such things?” Burke asked, amazed at such ignorance. “Your uncle?”
Alex nodded. “All his retainers believe it. And my maid, Annie, told me that the Irish rebels boil captured English children and serve them, carved like suckling pigs, to English prisoners.”
Burke waved his hand. “The English think that anyone who doesn’t live forninst the London Bridge and change religions with the Tudors must be swinging from the trees.”
“You’re not a Christian, then?” Alex said. The idea was foreign to her, as she had never in her life met a heathen. “I thought that Ireland was converted centuries ago.”
He shrugged. “I’m an Irishman, that is my only loyalty. All religion is the same to me. It seems clear there is a power above us; as for the rest, I leave that to the scholars and the priests to debate.”
“‘So if there is one God ... all the rest is a dispute over trifles.’”
“Just so. Who said that?”
“My queen, whom you profess to hate,” Alex said, smiling.
He made a face, but conceded the point. “I have heard that she has great wisdom. She must, to remain so long on the throne in your contentious country.”
“My uncle says that history will deem her the greatest ruler of the century.”
“But she is old, and I am young,” Burke said. “Time is her enemy and my friend. I can wait.”
“How long?”
“As long as need be. Your queen can send an Essex, she can send ten of him and a hundred of him, and as long as I have breath in my body I will fight.”
“But Lord Essex is a nobleman acting on an express commission from the queen’s lawful majesty—”
“Nobleman!” Burke exploded, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “‘Noble’ is who curries favor best, who buys the richest title with the richest purse.”
Alex was silent.
“Well? Is this not true?” he challenged her.
“‘Twould be treason to say so,” Alex murmured, avoiding his heated gaze.
“Your Lord Essex’s stepfather was party to a secret marriage which quite enraged your queen, I think. Her Royal Majesty tossed him into the Tower when she heard of his indiscreet union, did she not?”
“Yes.” Alex wondered how he got so much information, tucked away as he was in the middle of this forest. “The queen was advised to release Dudley because no one should be imprisoned for partaking of a lawful marriage.”
“And was not Dudley called ‘the Gypsy’?”
“Yes. He was dark-complected, it was a familiar name. ‘Beware the Gypsy, he will betray you.’”
“Who said that?” Burke asked, furrowing his brow.
“Cecil, the queen’s oldest and most trusted adviser, now dead.”
“And did the Gypsy betray your queen?”
“No, he never did,” Alex replied softly. “In their younger days he wanted very much to marry her, but she would have no one on the throne but herself.” She paused. “From what I’ve heard, I think he did truly love her.”
“But she loved her crown more,” Burke said.
“Yes. Her royal station.”
“Bah! They’re all very royal, I’m sure. In King Henry’s time any scoundrel with a pretty daughter could climb his way into lands and livings by parading her at court in hope of catching the old lecher’s eye. Don’t talk to me of ‘royal,’ madam, the word sticks in my craw.”
Alex was silent, taken aback by the vehemence she had provoked in him. She hoped he wouldn’t remember that her uncle was the fawning minion of the people Burke was so roundly denouncing.
“Oh, go and have your bath,” he said, as if vexed at the sight of her.
She obeyed, fearful of continuing the conversation. She had been wishing he would talk to her, but now she was sorry he had. This man would not be deterred from his goals, and she was worried about the silence from the castle. What if her uncle had received Burke’s message but didn’t want her back? In that event, she had little doubt what her final fate would be.
Alex washed quickly in the brook around the bend, and donned the clean shift she had been give
n. She suspected it was Rory’s as he was the smallest of the men she’d seen. The leather belt was much too large; she fitted it as closely as she could and then let it slip down to her hips. She added the pair of short boots, which made her look like an elf, and smoothed back her hair with her hands. When she rejoined Burke, he looked her over from head to foot and then shook his head.
“My lady fair, you are a cautioning sight.”
“This apparel was not my choice, sir,” she said.
“Give that belt to me,” he commanded.
Alex undid the strip of hide and handed it to him. He unsheathed his knife, cut two extra holes in it, and gestured for her to come nearer to him.
She stood stock still as he slipped it around her and tightened it properly. When it was fastened, she looked up and met his eyes.
They blazed a brilliant blue in the dark, and their expression carved a hollow in her stomach. Why was he looking at her like that? He was too close, his breath fanning her cheek, his powerful masculine scent of wool and leather and soap overwhelming her. She found that her chest was constricted and she could barely breathe.
He set his hands on either side of her waist. His fingers almost met across her back.
“I could snap you like a twig,” he said.
“Do you want to do that, Burke?” she replied. They were both whispering.
He swallowed with difficulty. “Oftentimes I do. And other times ...” he stopped.
“Other times?” she persisted, leaning into him.
“You play at games you don’t understand, girl,” he said quietly, his grip tightening.
“Then explain,” she murmured, inching closer to him.
He bent his head, at the same time lifting her up to meet him. Alex felt her eyes drifting closed.
Then he released her abruptly.
“Be off with you,” he said huskily, stepping back and breaking the spell.
“Where?” she said, looking around at the encroaching trees.
Burke sighed. “Follow me.”
* * * *
Two weeks passed, during which Alex waited every day for some sign that her uncle had responded to Burke’s message. Rory brought her food and took her out to the brook and occasionally released her for exercise.
She didn’t see Burke at all. He had moved out of the tent and was apparently bunking elsewhere.
Alex had grown used to sleeping in her bound position, so she was surprised when she was awakened in the early hours at the end of the fortnight, not sure what had alerted her.
The first thing she noticed was that Rory was missing from his position by the opening of the tent. Since Burke’s departure he had slept just outside it, guarding her. She peered into the darkness beyond the guttering candle set on the crate to her left. She could make out nothing but the shapeless pile of his cloak on the ground.
Alex was just sitting up when a large hand clamped over her mouth from behind. Jesu, please, not again! she thought wildly as her bonds were sliced swiftly and she was dragged through a slit cut in the back of the tent. She knew instinctively that none of Burke’s men would be doing this; he controlled them far too closely. She kicked and struggled uselessly, terrified.
A rag was stuffed in her mouth, taking the place of the hand that had gagged her. She was dragged a distance, unable to see her captor, and then thrown unceremoniously to the ground. Hardly a second passed before her body was covered by a larger, foul-smelling one. She stared up into a fierce-looking, bearded face with piggish eyes and a leering, red-lipped mouth. Her scream of horror emerged as a muffled shriek.
The hooligan pinning her to the ground levered himself off her far enough to reach for her shift and rend it from neck to waist. He pulled aside the flaps, leaving her torso bare, and yanked at the garment impatiently, trying to separate the rest of it from her body. Alex closed her eyes, and at that instant her attacker’s weight was lifted from her abruptly.
Her eyes flew open again to see Burke, naked except for a linen breechclout, holding her attacker by his shaggy dark hair, his arm around the ruffian’s neck and his knife to the man’s throat. The blade dug in just enough to draw blood and then Burke tossed the other man aside, kicking him solidly in the backside.
The dark man scrambled to his feet and drew his own blade as the two men faced off, yelling in Gaelic. Alex scurried out of the way, sobbing, trying in vain to hold the pieces of her tunic together. She crouched on the ground with her arms across her chest, ignored by the crowd of men from the camp who had gathered, torches in hand, to watch the combat.
Burke and the other man circled and lunged over and over again until finally Burke slashed Alex’s attacker on the bicep and then tripped him as he staggered. The man fell heavily to the ground, and Burke stood over him, his foot on the prone man’s neck. He pronounced a sentence in Gaelic, looking around at the onlookers to confirm the finality of his victory. He signaled Rory and another man to carry off the defeated man, and then snatched a cloak from one of the bystanders.
Alex was weeping, incapable of speech, as Burke draped the borrowed cloak around her and gathered her up in his arms. He carried her back to the tent, shouting orders over his shoulder all the while. Once inside, he set her on the ground, folded the cloak about her, and then shouted an order to Rory.
Alex’s teeth were chattering so loudly they sounded like the castanets used by the Spanish in their folk dances. Rory pushed his way into the tent and handed Burke a woolen blanket. He said something that caused Burke’s expression to darken. Burke responded tersely.
Rory looked at Alex disdainfully. “I told you something like this would happen if you kept her here,” he said, speaking English deliberately so that Alex would understand.
“That’ll do,” Burke said to him.
Rory shrugged and left the tent.
Burke wrapped Alex in the blanket, but she was still shivering. He finally picked her up and sat down on the floor with her in his lap. He held her quietly, stroking her back as if comforting a child, and after a while she stopped crying and gave a shuddering sigh.
“Better now?” he said quietly.
“Yes,” she said.
“Warm enough?”
“Yes.” Alex stirred and pushed aside the blanket. She was suddenly acutely conscious of the fact that she was lying with her head against Burke’s bare shoulder, and that neither of them was wearing much clothing.
Alex nuzzled him, marveling at the softness of his skin. He looked so masculine and hard, but the satiny surface beneath her lips was as smooth and flawless as a baby’s cheek.
His arm tightened around her.
“Hold me,” she whispered.
“I am,” he replied.
“Closer.”
“I’ll break your ribs,” he answered, but he obeyed, pulling her more securely into the curve of his body and smoothing her hair back from her face.
“I was so frightened,” she said. She moved her head and kissed his bicep, which flexed involuntarily.
“You’re fine. I’ll not let anything harm you.”
Alex slipped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him. She felt him stiffen in response.
“Don’t ...” she began, but it was already too late. He moved away from her as she tried futilely to cling to him.
Burke set her aside and stood. In the flickering candlelight, he was revealed in his almost naked splendor, his long muscled limbs and broad chest covered with a fine mat of light brown hair. Alex swallowed and looked away.
As if aware of her scrutiny, he draped the blanket around him like a cloak and tied it at his shoulder.
“Burke?” Alex said tentatively.
“Aye?”
“Why did that man attack me?”
Burke was silent.
“What did Rory mean by what he said?”
Burke sighed. “Pay no mind to Rory, he sometimes speaks too freely, like a strumpet at the town pump.”
“I think I deserve to know,” she pers
isted, her strength returning.
“Do you now?” he said.
“He wasn’t one of your men.”
Burke squatted next to her and thumbed his hair back from his face.
“No.”
“Then who?”
“There’s another faction of the rebels, split off from the O’Neill, and Scanlon, the one who ...”
“Brutalized me,” Alex supplied.
Burke nodded. “He wants my place,” he said simply. “He thought to make trouble for me by spoiling my plan to get Aidan back.”
“How did he know I was here?”
“Informers are everywhere.”
“So you’re fighting each other as well as the English.”
“That’s always been the way of it,” he said, rising. “We could drive your people from these shores forever if only we’d stand together.”
“Why did you leave the tent and let Rory guard me? If you had stayed, this wouldn’t have happened!”
“There was good reason.”
“What reason?”
“I’ll say no more.” He paused. “And don’t be laying the blame at Rory’s door. His relief was responsible and not himself.”
“No, not your precious Rory. I’m sure he’s in grief that I’m not cut to ribbons, or worse—” she broke off, starting to cry again.
“Leave off that wailing now, you’re safe,” Burke said quickly, afraid that she would start another fit.
“Oh, you don’t care, nobody cares, not even my uncle!” She stopped short, swallowing her words.
“What’s that?”
Alex gave way to despair and blurted out, “You haven’t heard from my uncle, have you?”
Burke didn’t answer.
“How many messages have you sent?”
He looked away.
She leapt to her feet. “I see that in spite of your exalted position as the leader of this fine band of fighting men, you still do not understand your situation.”
“Perhaps then you will clarify it,” he replied testily.
“Your prize is valueless, Mr. Burke, your hostage is no hostage at all. My uncle doesn’t want me back. He thinks himself well rid of me.”
The Highwayman Page 5