A movement in the trees on the left side of the road caught his attention and he decided he needed to check it out more closely. “Keep riding and pay no heed to me disappearing for a moment. If anyone notices I am not at your side I want them to think it is but a brief visit to a tree that drew me aside. So stay calm and act as if you do no more than take a ride in the country.”
“You have seen something.” She forced herself not to look around.
“I think so but cannot see it clearly. Could be no more than a stray cow.”
She doubted it, but nodded, and kept on riding, studying the many birds that abruptly flew from one tree to another. Primrose sensed more than saw him leave but kept on riding slowly down the road. To calm herself she told herself that it did not need to be another attack from her aunt’s men. Or even highwaymen. It could just be someone who was merely traveling between farms. She prayed that was what it was and began to worry about what Bened was riding into.
Bened slipped off Mercury’s back, kept his mount’s reins in hand, and crept toward where he had seen the movement as well as the sudden rousing of the birds. That chilly itch on the back of his neck that warned him of an enemy was back. He paused at the top of the rise that bordered the road, hiding himself in the heavy shade of the trees, and watched a man ride quickly along the route to a place where he would be forward of where he and Primrose would ride. Hoping Primrose kept her pace slow as instructed to, Bened followed the man.
The man dismounted and climbed a tree. Bened cursed. That was going to make it difficult to end the threat the man posed. He pulled his rifle from its place on his saddle and loaded it. It would be a difficult shot but he had taken such ones before. It had served him well in Canada when he had been watching out for the Earl of Collinsmoor’s brother. And he could boast of some skill with it. Shooting a man out of a tree was not easy, however, no matter how skilled one was.
Taking aim, he sighed. This was not a part of battle he had ever liked. The only thing that would make it easier this time was that the man was planning to shoot an unarmed woman, to shoot Primrose. This was not a fight for freedom or to take or hold on to land, but a killing driven by one woman’s greed. Bened did not think he would suffer the usual touch of sadness he did after such a shot.
He heard the slow approach of Primrose’s horse and watched through his sights as the man tensed and settled in to make his shot. Anger swelled in Bened. Primrose had done nothing to her aunt, had suffered the woman’s presence in her life because that is what family did. Charity might gall some people but it did not often inspire murder and this is what this was.
The moment the man adjusted his aim and stilled, Bened fired. He watched the man’s body jerk and tumble from the tree to lie still on the ground. Bened waited for that regret he always felt at taking a life and it did not come. He hoped it was because this man had been willing to murder an innocent woman for a few coins and not because he was growing hardened to such killing.
He returned his rifle to its sheath on his horse, mounted Mercury, and rejoined Primrose. It touched him when she reached across the space between him and squeezed his hand. The sound of a shot was enough to tell her what had happened and he was glad she did not ask any more about it.
Primrose felt her heart clench with sorrow and pain. This man had killed for her. A part of her wanted to know how he felt about that but she silenced it. She knew little about men who did battle but she suspected it was not something they easily shrugged aside when that fight caused a death, not even when there was no real choice in the matter. She had caused him to get blood on his hands and she cursed her aunt for driving them to this point.
It was almost an hour before Bened spoke, surprised at how comfortable the long silence had been. “I think we shall have to spend the night outside,” he said.
“Sleep on the ground?”
“Aye. We will never make the next village until after dark and I do not want to ride into a village when there are so many shadows to avoid or peer into.”
“Ah.” She frowned and looked around. “I have never slept outside.”
“Never? Not even when you were a little girl?”
“Never. Why should I have? I had a nice room and a warm bed at Willow Hill. Once my mother passed, we never traveled much or far enough to warrant it. Simeon must have since he went hunting or fishing with Papa.”
“You never went hunting or fishing, either?”
“No. Is that something I should have been doing? Once I heard it required such things as worms impaled on hooks, I had no interest in it. I preferred just going on nice long rides with Papa and, sometimes, Simeon. We never rode long enough to need to sleep out on the ground, either.”
“Not to worry. I have done it many times and in several countries so I can set us up comfortably.”
Primrose frowned and looked around as he led them off the road to a small glen. It was pretty and the ground looked clean. It also looked hard. It was not until he began to spread out the roll of bedding he had been carrying on the back of his horse that she recognized the enforced intimacy of what they were about to do. It was not until he went to her horse and pulled off another roll of bedding that she realized that had somehow appeared since she had left Willow Hill.
“When did I get that?”
“In the last village,” he answered as he spread that bedding out not far from his own. “I became aware of the lack and knew that at some point we might have to camp.”
“I must give you the money I have. It has occurred to me that you have been paying for everything yet I have brought money for this journey. And I can see you thinking of how to refuse it. Do not bother.”
“It does not make a man comfortable to accept money from a woman.”
“Not even when it is her business that has given them the need for it?”
“I do not need it.”
There was the definite hint of manly insult behind those words and she almost smiled. Men’s pride could be a strange thing. No woman would concern herself. If two women traveled together, both paid a share. Somehow she had to make him understand that that was all she was doing, carrying her own weight as much as she was able.
“I began this journey. You are here because you know I needed someone to protect me and help me find my brother. I was fully prepared to pay my way for the whole journey. All I mean to do is give you that money. If naught else, it will make it easier for us to continue to afford the rooms and meals we keep having to pay for at the inns along the way. It is not even payment for being my guard, just a sharing of costs. If I was traveling with a woman, a friend, it would not only be readily accepted but expected.”
Bened sat back on his heels and looked at her. He realized they were having a clash of pride. She needed to help pay and he needed to be the one who took care of her. Yet, she was right, if it was two women, or two friends, or even two relatives, a sharing of the actual cost of the journey would be welcome, even expected. He would just make very sure that he used only half, no more and no less.
“Then set it with my belongings and we will split the costs for the rest of the journey.”
She wanted to point out that he should take what was owed for the journey costs thus far but bit back the words. It was all the concession she would get and pushing harder would then start to prick his pride. Nodding, she hurried to collect her funds and tuck them into his saddle packs. By the time she returned to his side, their bedding was set out. It did not look much more welcoming than it had rolled up and sitting behind the saddle but she promised herself she would not complain.
His reasoning for the need to spend the night on the ground was sound. Villages at night were a warren of shadowy places where their enemies could easily hide. If her aunt’s men had arrived first they would also know the grounds they fought on much better than Bened did. He always reconnoitered when they entered a village and entering it at nightfall would make that almost impossible and dangerous.
Despite her good in
tentions, she could not fully repress a grimace when she sat down on the bedding he had laid out for her. There was no softness despite the thick bottom blanket and the grass. Men did this a lot, she reminded herself, and she would do her best to endure it. She forced herself not to think about what might be crawling through the grass beneath her bedding and watched him prepare a fire.
“Shall I collect some wood? One thing I do know is what is good for burning. Papa used to have us sit out at night so he could teach us about the stars and we would often make a fire even though the light from it could sometimes make seeing the stars a little difficult. At least you could hurry back to it when you got cold, though.”
“A supply of wood would be helpful.”
Bened watched her wander off and held his smile inside until she was out of sight. She did not like being ignorant of sleeping outside and all it entailed. He suspected she was one who did not like being ignorant about anything. The talks in which she told him about her father, even her brother, revealed two very intelligent men with a greed for knowledge, who did not exclude her from that part of their lives.
She had had a good family and her aunt had taken one of the biggest pieces away already and was aiming for the rest. It had to hurt yet she had held strong through each new discovery about the depth of the betrayal of one of her own. What he did not understand was how, with so many smart people in the family, no one had noticed the adder in their midst. All he could think of was that, they themselves being incapable of such a thing, they had never considered the woman’s envy and anger a true threat to their very lives. Such naïveté had buried too many people.
He was pleased when the wood she brought back proved her claim that she knew what was good for burning. Then he caught sight of the plants she carried. “What are those?”
“Medicinal plants.” She hurried to her bag, dug around inside, and pulled out several little cloth bags into which she put the plants. “They have gone to seed so I am hoping if I can get them home, I can plant them in the garden. I hesitated for a bit as I rather like wandering through the woods hunting for plants I need and then preparing them but there are so many, I will still be doing that a lot.”
“There are enough wooded areas near your home for that to be useful?”
“Yes. When my father discovered my interest in plants, especially herbs and medicinal ones, he told the ones who care for the lawns and all, to stop clearing out around the trees that surrounded us, to let it go wild. He said we had all the lawn we needed so why use so much time to try to make a wooded area look so prim. They did and now we have quite a few acres that have gone back to what they should be. Papa was especially pleased when he discovered such a thing also provided us with wild mushrooms. That required a great deal of study as some of the ones that are poison look a lot like the ones that are good.” She carefully tucked the little bags back into her satchel.
“I think your interest in herbs and plants is a bit more than a hobby,” he teased.
“I will confess that I can become quite lost in coming up with a new, useful potion, lotion, or tisane. My father and brother would bring me books or even plants when they traveled. Sad to say, not all the plants took as they came from far warmer places but the books were often a wonder.”
“So you know more than one language.” He watched her blush and look uneasy.
“I do know several.”
“Do you know the Welsh tongue?”
“No, I fear not although I do know a little Scottish Gaelic. Mama was a Scot.”
He nodded. “Another language too few are using anymore.” He set up a roasting spit and then sat back. “I need to go ahunting for our meal. I have seen the signs that there a lot of rabbits about so I should not be away long. Anything makes you uneasy, just let out a hearty scream. That sound carries far and wide in areas like this.”
“I do not suppose you saw any signs of pheasant or quail.”
He laughed. “Nay, but I will be quick to grab one if I see one. Roasted rabbit is not bad.”
“Oh, I know that, although we usually have it in a stew or some kind of meat pie.”
“They are more tender that way.” He stood up and fetched his rifle, carefully reloading it. “I actually prefer to hunt rabbit with bow and arrow but do not carry such a weapon around with me.”
“Dead is dead when it concerns a rabbit, I would think.”
“True. It is just that the arrow is easier to remove and makes no sound. The sound of a rifle shot carries far. Remember, as loud as you can make it, scream if you think there is any threat near at hand.”
“I will.”
She watched him walk away and the moment he was out of sight she began to feel uneasy. When she wandered the woods it was in the daytime with the full knowledge that her home was but a fast run away through the trees. Most of the time, she was able to keep it in sight as she wandered. She had never been alone in a strange stretch of woodland, far from anyone she knew, with night coming on. Primrose sternly told herself to find her backbone and stop fretting, and then turned her mind to what she would do with the seeds she had just collected.
Chapter Six
As the sun went down and a chill entered the air, Primrose moved closer to the fire and warmed her hands. She had never greeted the night outside unless with her father and brother. As the birds grew quiet and the light faded away, she was not sure she wanted to. There was a great deal to be said in favor of a roof, four walls, and a proper bed.
When Sir Bened returned to camp with a fat, dead rabbit, she decided there was also a big advantage to not actually seeing all the preparations for the meals she ate. She kept her gaze averted as he prepared the animal for roasting and put it on the clever spit he set up over the fire. When she heard him moving around, she forced herself not to look for she suspected he was cleaning up after those preparations needed to ready the animal for cooking.
“Squeamish?” he asked as he sat down across the fire from her.
“Not that I know of. I just did not want to see what you were doing.”
“You have spent your life in the country. Surely you have seen an animal butchered?”
Primrose had to think about that for a moment and was a little surprised when she had to say, “Actually, no, not that I can recall.”
“You were kept that sheltered?”
She frowned. “Not really. I know farm life, including things about breeding that many think no lady should ever know. Yet everyone was always very careful to never do any butchering where or when I might see it.” She bit her bottom lip for a moment. “That is a little odd, is it not?”
Bened had to nod in agreement. “It might be something your father thought no well-bred lady should be subjected to.”
“Yet no one hid that what I was eating was raised on Willow Hill land. There was a great pride in the fact that our farms supplied us and the people of Willow Hill so well. I can tell by how you spoke that it is a very odd thing for a countrywoman to have never seen it done so why would my father, country raised, care if I saw it?”
“Many women from the country know nothing of the breeding of stock because someone decided it was not something a well-bred lady should know despite how much of her comfort depended on the value of that stock. I have met gentry women who cannot read, were never taught, because their elders felt it would give them too much knowledge about the evil of the world or of indelicate matters.”
“I wonder how many soon worked to gain that skill and went on to read books that would turn their mother’s hair silver.”
Bened laughed. “No doubt there are many. The women in my family would certainly do that.”
“You have a very large family. I recall that much from the talk I have heard.”
And for a woman whose family had dwindled to two he suspected such a thing fascinated her, he thought with a pang of sympathy. “Very large and growing all the time. It is good to see after a lot of hard years when any one of us could find ourselves victims of witch
hunts. The gossip might grow irritating at times but it is far less troublesome than knowing at any time you could find your home surrounded by superstitious people with torches.”
“Our branch of the Woottens is but a skinny twig. We always seemed to be on the wrong side of things. Catholic when Elizabeth was queen. Protestant when Mary took the throne. With the king when Cromwell came to power and with Cromwell when the throne was restored. By the time Papa was born, his father was all that was left and one of his two sons has bred no children. It is sad to think that one’s bloodline is vanishing.”
“There is still you and your brother.”
“True though I will not carry on the name if I marry and have children, nor can I ever inherit the barony. Of course, if dear Aunt Augusta has her way that will definitely mean the end of the Woottens of Willow Hill.”
Bened began to better understand her dogged pursuit of her brother. The unwanted marriage and fear for her brother’s life as well as the need to let him know he was now the baron were acceptable reasons for what appeared to be a very reckless act, but this went even deeper. He was certain she had been well versed over the years on the waning of her bloodline, imbued with the need to continue it. Although she might not see it herself, that also drove her to place her reputation and even her life at risk. She could carry on the bloodline herself but, as she said, not the name and the barony although a son of hers might be able to take it on if her brother bore no sons. Because of the man her uncle was, the barony and the name would really die with her brother if he was taken before he could marry and breed a son or two.
As they dined on the rabbit he related a few of the more humorous tales concerning his family. It pleased him when the sadness brought on by recalling how few of her family were left began to fade from her eyes. It was a heavy weight she carried on her slim shoulders. Bened began to realize that, for the first time in his life, he actually wanted to hurt a woman. He wanted to put a bullet in Augusta Wootten.
If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance) Page 7