If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance)

by Hannah Howell

  “Are you about to tell me that it is all true?” Primrose supposed she ought to be alarmed but she found herself fascinated, almost eager to have some of the rumors she had greedily listened to confirmed.

  “Not sure what you have heard about us, but, aye, we could rightfully be called an eccentric lot. We are not witches, however, or tools of Satan, or wizards, or whatever else some call us. We are gifted.” Seeing only curiosity in her expression, he felt something inside him relax and continued. “Nearly every one of us can do something very unique, something most others can never do. Unfortunately, many find such gifts frightening, even a sign of evil.”

  “Is your gift frightening?”

  “Nay. I but have a gift for sensing the enemy, some approaching danger, and can track down near anything or anyone.” He decided not to mention his ability to calm people as that could be something she might not so easily accept. “I will find your brother, although, from what you have told me, it does not appear that he is trying to hide.”

  Primrose laughed. “True, but, if, and I do not have any proof to say anything, but if my aunt is thinking to be rid of the heir and somehow Simeon catches wind of it, he will hide. He will do it very well, too. As I told you, some people think him a worthless fop, but he is actually quite brilliant. My mother once told me that she thinks all brilliant people are a little odd because their minds are so busy. She saw my father’s love of fine clothes and occasional foolishness as the way he escaped all those deep thoughts.” She smiled. “I cannot say I believe that, yet both Simeon and Papa could be foolish one moment and then fall into a long discussion of something so deep and complicated it was beyond understanding. At times you would even have to remind them that they needed to eat a meal.”

  Bened nodded. “I have some kin who are much the same.”

  The hairs on the back of his neck rose and Bened tensed. He could hear no one approaching but he knew someone who meant them ill was near at hand. As he abruptly stood up, he patted the pocket of his coat, pleased that he had decided to keep his pistol with him.

  “What is wrong?” Primrose asked, fighting the fear that threatened to swamp her as his expression darkened.

  “Not sure. Stay right here,” he ordered, and left.

  She stood up and then sat right back down. The urge to rush after him was surprisingly strong but she knew it would be best to do as he had commanded no matter how much being ordered around annoyed her. She had no skill for fighting or dealing with any sort of real danger. All she could do if she insisted on being with him wherever he had run off to would be to impede him in whatever he had gone to do.

  Drumming her fingers on the table, she wished she knew what was happening. He had told her he had a gift for sensing an enemy. Although she was not sure she believed in such gifts, there was always the possibility they existed. Her father had been fond of saying anything was possible. The question that needed answering was had he sensed his enemies or hers? And just who were her enemies? Next time she would ask a few questions before he ran off.

  A moment later she realized that she had accepted his presence in her search for Simeon. It annoyed her to have to admit that she needed a man to help her but she was neither too proud nor too stubborn to accept the facts. Her reputation might be utterly ruined if it was discovered that she had traveled around with a man who was not related to her, but traveling alone could as well plus cost her a great deal more. She had already seen that in the looks men had given her, heard it in the crudeness of comments directed at her. Even if Bened did not possess the skills he claimed, he could prove to be a fine shield against such harassment. She only needed to recall the last time she had stopped at an inn to admit that she needed one. Primrose just hoped her new shield did not get badly dented by whatever or whomever he had just charged off to confront.

  Bened cursed as he stared at the empty stalls that had once held his and Primrose’s horses. It was bad enough her horse had been taken while under his watch but to lose his own was embarrassing. He then turned to stare at the cowering stableboy. The youth did not look as if he had put up any fight at all while someone had taken the animals.

  “Where are our horses?” he demanded.

  “They been taken back by the ones ye stole them from,” the boy replied, the tremor in his voice stealing some of the bravado he was attempting to display.

  “Is that what they told you?”

  The youth nodded. “Said they were taking them back to the lady what owns them.”

  “And how much did they pay you to believe that lie so readily?” The way the youth clapped a hand over a pocket in his stained trousers gave Bened the answer he needed. “Those horses were not stolen but now they have been. Be grateful I am not in the mood to watch you hang for helping them, boyo. Now saddle me a horse so I can go and get my horse and her ladyship’s horse back.” As the white-faced boy hurried to do as asked, Bened added, “And if anyone tells you such a tale again, you might consider fetching a magistrate to sort it out first instead of just taking a few coins and handing over two fine horses. You might also pause to consider the fact that few horse thieves are young well-bred ladies, nor do they stable their stolen horses at a busy inn and then go pay for a room and a meal.”

  As Bened headed out he studied the trail left by the horses. Three men had taken them and were headed back the way he and Primrose had come. It appeared the ones chasing her had outrun her or, worse, had been waiting here for they had figured out where she was going. He doubted Primrose knew she was being chased but he had suspected it, just as he suspected there were still a few things she was not telling him.

  Without his gift, he would never have found the men for the sun had set, leaving only faint moonlight to reveal the trail left. Fortunately, that trail appeared as clear as a signpost to him. Within an hour he had found the men. They sat around a small fire just off the road, thinking the trees hid them well enough. Bened slipped off his horse, secured it, and crept up behind the men. It surprised him that they had not gone very far but then realized many others would stop when it grew dark too.

  Quietly he untethered the horses he had come after so that he would be able to flee quickly with them if he had to. Whoever had hired these men and set them on Primrose’s trail had wasted their money. They were crude lackwits. Did they truly believe no one would set out after them for the theft of two finely bred horses? Not only had they left a clear trail but they had not even gone very far before stopping, then lighting a small fire to mark where they were for anyone who did choose to chase them down. The fools were not even keeping a close watch on their valuable prizes.

  “I be thinking we should have gone farther down the road,” grumbled the biggest of the three men.

  “No one’s even going to know the horses are gone ’til the mornin’, Will.” The man who spoke scratched under his ragged beard. “That lad will nay be warning anyone.”

  “Not sure I trust that old bitch we just risked a hanging for either.”

  “She is paying us well.”

  “True, but I do not much trust her, neither,” said the thin man with the long, visibly filthy blond hair.

  “No need to, Ned,” said the bearded man. “Three of us against her and one servant. And we got the horses, so the lass and that big feller she has with her now will be easier for the old crone to catch.”

  Bened, fearing that one of the men might glance his way, moved to hide, using the horses as his shield. He was eager to leave but wanted to hear what the men had to say. Information was often the best defense and Bened was certain the old crone the men did not trust was Miss Primrose’s aunt. He was also sure that little Miss Primrose Wootten was still holding on to a few secrets.

  He briefly considered hurrying right back to the inn to ask her a few tough questions but decided that could wait just a little while longer. The opportunity to find out who was pursuing her was too good to pass up even though he suspected exactly who it was. Over the past few years he had come to the conc
lusion that some of an heir’s deadliest foes slithered out of his own bloodline.

  “Might be best to just send her word about our success,” suggested Will.

  “Then how do we get paid?” asked Ned.

  “By not being cowards and facing the bitch. She be just an old woman, fools.”

  “She is nay that old and in fine shape,” said Will. “She is also mean as a badger, sly, and cold, Mac. Do not forget she is paying us to stop a sister from finding her own brother and is chasing that boy down like he is a rabid cur what needs shooting. I be thinking we have been dragged into some family battle and that is always bad. Real bad.”

  Mac should listen to Will, Bened thought. Stepping into the middle of a family battle, especially one over money and land, was the action of a reckless fool. Bened just wished he could avoid it but a pair of big dark blue eyes were tethering him to this trouble. At least he was on the right side of the fight.

  Cautiously, he began to move the horses away from the campsite. His horse, Mercury, had no saddle, nor did Smudge, but he did not need one. Once he gathered up the horses from the stables, he could ride Mercury and lead the others.

  He reached the patiently grazing horse from the stables, secured the three horses together so that they would remain that way during his ride back to the inn, and then crept back to the campsite. While keeping a close watch on the three men, still arguing, for any sign that they sensed his presence, Bened untethered their horses. He walked back toward where his horses waited, paused and picked up three stones, then turned to look at the men’s horses. Offering up a silent apology to the animals, he hit each one in the rear flank with a stone then turned and ran for his horses, the sounds of chaos caused by three men trying to avoid being trampled and yet gather up their panicked horses following him.

  Leaping onto Mercury’s back, he headed back to the inn, moving as fast as he dared while trying to keep the three mounts close together. The stableboy still looked chastened and afraid when he led the horses into the stables. Although Bened did not think the men would risk coming after him all the way to the inn, he decided to stand guard in the stables for about an hour. He then proceeded to give the boy a few lessons in the harsh realities of life. Once certain no one was coming after him and assured the boy would let him know if those men came sniffing round again, Bened left the boy with his ears probably still stinging from the his lecture and headed into the inn. As he moved toward the parlor, he planned what and how much he should tell Primrose.

  “Are you really thinking of going to see that bitch?” Will asked Mac as they all secured their saddles on their horses.

  “Why not? Need to tell her that we failed and convince her to let us try again.”

  “Well, I am nay going.”

  “Me neither,” said Ned.

  Mac looked at both his companions in shock and then his mouth twisted in an expression of disgust. “Are you really that afraid of an old woman?”

  “Not her exactly,” said Ned, “but of what she might have done to us because we failed.”

  Mac mounted his horse and glared at his men. “Cowards.”

  “I think you should consider nay facing her with bad news.”

  “Damn me, Will, when did you become such a wretched coward you tremble in your boots over facing some old lady?”

  Will shook his head. “Not a coward. She gives me a real bad feeling, Mac. Real bad. If you have to go, that be your choice, but watch your back. Watch it close. Me and Ned will wait for you at the Cock and Thistle.”

  Still shaking his head, Will rode off. By the time he reached the agreed upon meeting place, he found himself wishing he had stayed with his friends. He became all too aware of how deserted the meeting place was. No one would be near at hand to see or hear anything. He was utterly alone. Slowly dismounting when the carriage arrived, Mac fought back a sudden urge to leave and go share an ale with Will and Ned.

  “You failed,” the woman said as she paused in the doorway of the carriage before stepping down the steps lowered by her servant.

  “That huge feller she has with her now found out we had taken the horses and took them back. Everything else went as it should. I do not know how he even discovered the horses were gone before morning. We should have had at least until the sun came up. But we will be ready for him next time.”

  “There does not appear to be a we any longer. Just a you.”

  “My men are waiting for me to join them. No need of us all riding here.”

  “This huge feller,” she said as she finally left her carriage and stepped closer, “who is he?”

  Mac shook his head. “No idea, m’lady. He just appeared at her side. Lad at the stables said he was called Sir Bened Vaughn.”

  She frowned. “I do not recognize the name yet something about it nudges a memory. What matters now is that you failed. I do not accept failure, sir.”

  When a hand grabbed his hair from behind and a knife blade was pressed to his throat, Mac cursed himself for scorning Will’s and Ned’s unease. The woman studied him as if he were some strange insect that had dared to intrude upon her stroll through her gardens. “Meet your replacement.”

  Even though he knew he had no chance at all of escaping his fate, Mac fought but the brutal slice of the knife over his throat quickly stopped him. His last thought as he fell to the ground, his blood flowing out of him at a rate that would end him swiftly, was that he should have treated Will’s concerns with more respect.

  Augusta Wootten grimaced and looked over her cloak. The blood from the wretched fool lying dead on the ground had sprayed far and wide. She could see a few spots on her cloak. Tsking with disgust, she took off the cloak and tossed it over Mac’s body before looking at her newest hirelings. The man cleaning off his blade and his two cold-eyed companions looked far more capable of doing what needed to be done.

  “Get rid of that,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of the body, “and then we will discuss what needs to be done next.”

  “Should we hunt down the other two?” asked the leader as he sheathed his knife.

  “No. Who would they talk to about this without risking arrest and hanging? There are more important matters to attend to now. If we happen to stumble across those fools, we will deal with them then, but there is no need to waste time hunting for them.”

  Carl Mullins watched the woman walk back to her carriage and her waiting servant and then signaled his men to help him carry off the late Mac.

  “I do not trust that woman,” his man Tom said.

  “Good,” replied Carl, “then I know I can count on you to help us watch our backs.”

  Tom grunted. “She will see us done the same way as soon as she gets what she wants.”

  “This is why we will disappear before she gets her hands on the prize she seeks. All we need to do is keep a very close eye on when that is about to happen.”

  Chapter Three

  The word Primrose had just read fled her mind before she even began to read the next one. It had surprised her to find four books set proudly on a shelf in the private parlor near the fireplace, but she suspected guests had left them behind. Books were valuable but not so much so to some people that they would turn around in their journey to retrieve one. At least none of them appeared to be from some village lending library for such places could not afford the loss.

  Her mind was too full of questions and concerns about one Sir Bened Vaughn to stay fixed upon the words in a book, however. Why had he not yet returned? It was dark now. The man might be all he claimed but she could not believe even a highly skilled tracker could find anyone in the dark.

  It hurt to think of Smudge being gone from her life, lost to her forever. The mare was a cherished gift from her father, who was also lost to her now. Primrose could remember the day her father had given her the horse. She had been so sad for over a month, ever since her first horse had broken its leg and needed to be killed, ever since she had been thrown from the animal and hurt her head. Whe
n she had come to, it had been to the loss of her beloved horse and trouble with her eyesight, a trouble that had lingered. Then her father had given her the dappled gray, laughing when she had squealed in surprise for she had not even known why he had brought her into the stables. She could still recall admitting that she had not seen the yearling, had seen only a smudged image of something that moved.

  There had been the hint of tears in his laughter after that but she had pretended she did not hear it. Her father had brought in physician after physician to try to fix her eyesight. She had felt his grief over what had happened to her and done her best never to complain. Her sight might have never gotten better but it had not gotten any worse, either, and she had made herself find some comfort in that. The part of her that suddenly wanted her eyesight to be perfect again because of a broad-shouldered knight made her angry with herself. If Sir Bened was worthy of her good regard, her poor eyesight should be of no concern to him.

  Annoyed by her wandering thoughts, she moved to get herself more of the mulled cider the maid had left on the hearth so it would keep warm by the fire. Primrose knew all of society would be shocked to find out she was traveling, unchaperoned, with a man she had only just met. Then again, the fact that she had been traveling alone would have shocked them too. Society, she thought, was far too easily shocked.

  Those in society also had evil little minds, she decided as she retook her seat and sipped at her drink. Why else would they immediately assume that she had been soiled just because she traveled alone or with a man not related or married to her? Evidently they thought women too weak and foolish to behave with propriety unless under the strict watch of some relative. The fact that so few women were deeply insulted by that opinion puzzled her. And did men not get insulted by the implication that they were so weak and immoral they could not contain their lusts when alone with a woman?