He also noted that Primrose showed no concern or fear during his tales of his family when he mentioned various gifts each possessed. She was curious, even fascinated, at times but never showed a hint of fear. Even in this enlightened age that was rare.
“Do you have your pistol?” Bened asked Primrose.
“I do. Loaded and close at hand. Do you need it?”
“Nay. Have my own, my rifle, my sword, and a few knives.” He grinned at her look of surprise. “I always travel well armed.” He stood up and brushed off his backside. “I need to go and look about but wished to be certain you were still armed.”
“Look about for what?”
“Any sign of your aunt and her hirelings. I need to know if they are following us since we had the brief problem with the man while on the road, or if we are just keeping apace with them. Are they in front or behind? Will you be fine waiting here? I will not be long.”
“Go. I will be fine,” she said, hoping he could not sense the lie.
The moment he disappeared into the night’s shadows, she felt the fear begin its slow climb into her heart and mind. It was an old fear, one from childhood that had never faded, was only strengthened when she had become lost in the woods and unable to find her way back to the manor. That had been an odd event for no one, not even her, could understand how she had ended up so deep in the woods between the manor and the church cemetery, or who might have led her there. Fright had stolen her voice and, some feared, her mind. For days she could not even sleep in her own bed, the room too dark, and she would slip down to her father’s or Simeon’s room to curl up on the floor next to their beds. That had faded, eased enough so that she returned to sleeping in her own room again, but now she wondered yet again who had caused her to suffer so.
It was becoming apparent that there were a lot of puzzles and unanswered questions about her past, a lot of very large holes in her memory. Primrose knew that many people recalled little of their childhood but surely one should recall the things that left one with a strong fear, a lingering pain, or some other thing that had caused a fierce emotion. She stared into the fire and decided she needed to dig out some of those memories. Something told her they could be very important now.
Bened searched the ground and frowned. Someone had died here and it had been a bloody death. There had been three men standing behind one. That one had struggled but so briefly that Bened had a good idea of how he was killed. Someone comes up from behind, gets a tight grip on him by his hair or collar, yanks his head back, and cuts his throat. Quick, efficient, and bloody. It could explain what had brought him to this spot to look for signs of their enemy. He had seen the ravens around before the sun set, and ravens and death went together like men and women. Somewhere nearby there was a body. He moved carefully in a straight line from where he had found the blood and paused to study some more prints in the ground. A woman had stood there while the killing was done, just close enough to have been splattered by blood.
A few steps more and he found the tracks of a carriage. It had drawn up, sat in place just long enough to make its marks in the ground deep enough to remain for a few days. Bened could easily envision the scene, as easily as if it had been drawn for him by a skilled artist.
Augusta had come here to meet with some of her hirelings, bringing a new crew with her. They had all waited but only one of the previous men had appeared. Bened suspected who it was and wondered if the man’s last thought had been how he should have heeded his friends. The new slew the old while Augusta watched. It was a good way to let the new hirelings understand how she rewarded failure. Now he just had to find the body.
Going back to where the killing had taken place, he soon found the prints of two men carrying a heavy weight off into the woods. They had not carried it far. His stomach roiled at the smell and the sound of creatures dining on the dead. Fortunately they scattered when he appeared. There was not much left but enough for him to know it was the one called Mac. The man had certainly been no saint but it was a hard way to end. Shaking his head, he started to make his way back to his camp. Seeing no more recent signs of the enemy nor sensing them in any way, he felt it was safe to rest now.
He stepped into the clearing where they camped and, at first, was annoyed that Primrose barely noticed him, thinking she had been keeping a very poor watch for troubles. Then he saw that she was trembling. As he crouched in front of her, he realized she was crying. The blank look on her face worried him and he grasped her by the shoulders to give her a little shake. She stared at him and slowly her eyes sharpened. Then she hurled herself into his arms, clinging to him in a way that left every inch of him hardening with interest. Shifting to sit more comfortably, he rubbed her back and sternly reminded himself that now was not the time for lusting. She was deeply upset.
“Are you that afraid of being alone in the dark?” he asked.
“Not anymore. I think I will be better soon.” Primrose took a few deep breaths and let them out slowly as she pushed away the last dregs of the childhood fear and grief that had grabbed her so tightly. “I know where the fear comes from now.”
He brushed her hair back from her face and looked down at her. “What do you mean?”
“I always wondered why I had never really grown out of that childhood fear of the dark. I had no thoughts of things under the bed or anything such as that. It was a blind fear. So I got to thinking of something that happened when I was small, just after my mother died, and the more I thought on it, the more I remembered, especially when I did not allow the fear and sorrow thinking about that time always brings to force me to leave it alone, shake it from my mind.”
“What did you recall, Rose?”
She smiled faintly as she rested her cheek on his broad chest and soaked up the pure strength of him. He was calming her as he always did although how he could do so with no words, she was not sure. If it was some gift he had it was a good one. It helped conquer the last of the fear and grief she had been crippled by.
“I was five, nearing six when my mother died. It was hard for she had been a very loving mother. I thought to find some of that when my aunt and uncle came but soon realized there was none of that warmth or softness there. Anyway, one night I woke and ached for my mother as only a child can. I understood death as much as a child that age can but I still wanted to visit my mother. I went looking for Papa but he was lost in his own grief somewhere and I found my aunt in his office. Now I can see her sitting at the desk with his ledgers open in front of her but at the time something like that meant nothing to me.”
“What did she do?”
“When I said I wanted to see my mother she smiled. She said she would take me to see her and she did. She walked me through the woods to the graveyard, stood me in front of my mother’s grave, and said there was my mother. That she was in the ground and feast for the worms now. Then telling me that we all end up there, some sooner than others, she walked away. No hug for a crying child, which is what I think I had been really looking for.”
“She left you in a graveyard at night?”
“Yes, but once I realized I was alone I tried to get back home. I knew the woods but had not realized how different they looked at night. I ended up horribly lost and was crying and yelling for people until my voice died. Then I guess, from what was said, I went away into my head. They found me lying on the ground. I could not speak and when they tried to put me to bed that night I made the only noise I could actually make for months afterward. I screamed. Poor Papa had to sleep in a well-lit room for quite a while before I could be left alone in my own bed. Sometime during those months I completely forgot how I had ended up in the woods at night and anytime I tried to recall I was pushed back by my own fear and grief for my lost mother.”
“And so your father could not know just what sort of evil he had let into his house and let it stay,” he said as he held her close and rested his chin on her head.
“I know. I think there may be other things. That childhood adventure
did, I think, leave me susceptible to burying all sorts of things deep inside and not looking at them again. I am going to start digging them back out. There may be some answers there.”
She sat back a little and smiled at him. “Now that I have calmed, it is a relief to know the truth. It always troubled me that I was so childish I had never gotten rid of that fear of the dark, the kind that children have. As I said, I know there are no monsters under the bed or nasty things in the closet or any of that. I should not have been as disturbed by being alone in the dark as I have always been.”
“You caught her looking at your father’s ledgers. If you had ever mentioned it, I fear you would have had some accident.”
“Oh, I did not think of that. She was probably hoping they would not find me, that I would have an accident trying to find my way home. There are certainly enough pitfalls in the woods.”
He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, tilted her face up to his, and began to gently wash the tears from her face. “A lot for a little terrified child.”
“If I had remembered what happened earlier my father might still be alive,” she said, and had to fight the urge to start weeping again.
“There is no way to know that. And, you were a child. How could a child understand what she was dealing with and explain that to an adult? Then again, it might well have gotten him killed earlier while you and Simeon were still too young to deal with the woman as she helped herself to all that belonged to you.”
“There is that. He would have sent them away immediately. But, all that is in the past. As you say, I was but a child. I doubt I could have even explained it all in a way that would have worked to warn my father. I can just imagine it. ‘Oh, Papa, I found Aunty reading books and asked her to take me to see Mama and then I got lost and could not find Aunty anywhere.’”
“Which sounds very much like a child of five. Now you can look back, see that she was reading his ledgers, and understand what that meant.”
“This plan to set my uncle up as the baron has been one she has nursed for a very long time.”
“From the beginning, I suspect.” Unable to resist he began to lightly stroke her hair, letting the tips of his fingers drag through the thick, soft curls. “How did your mother die, Rose?”
“She fell and she was with child. Everything went wrong and she ended up miscarrying and bleeding to death. And, oh sweet God, do you think Augusta had something to do with that?”
He shrugged. “Well, it is a possibility.”
He saw her mouth tremble and, holding her by the chin, he pressed his lips against hers, not wanting her to begin weeping again. Comfort swiftly changed to desire as he lightly nipped at her bottom lip. She shivered in his arms and her mouth opened slightly. Bened slid his tongue into its heat and savored the taste of her as he held her as close as he dared.
When Bened slipped his tongue inside her mouth, Primrose thought she ought to be disgusted but instead her whole body grew hot and all she could think of was pressing herself as close to him as possible. The very few kisses she had had before this had never made her feel this way. It was sweet, fiery, heady, and made her greedy for more of them. She murmured her disappointment when he ended the kiss, slowly pulling his mouth away from hers. She was pleased to see that he was breathing heavily for it meant that kiss had moved him as much as it had her.
“That was probably not a wise thing to do when we are about to spend a night together in the woods,” Bened said but was unable to resist brushing his mouth over hers one more time.
She allowed him to ease her off his lap. Just when had she crawled into his lap, she wondered, but did not really care. Reluctant though she was to admit it, she knew he was right. They were still new to each other. Realizing that they could stir up so many feelings with just a kiss when they were about to sleep together in the woods, alone, but feet apart, was only asking for trouble.
Primrose sat on the bedding and watched him put his weapons around. He moved so quietly and gracefully for such a big man. It was a joy to watch him. For the first time in her entire life, Primrose found herself curious as to what he would look like without his clothes as he moved around.
Shocked at the path her thoughts had taken, she asked, “Did you find anything out there?”
“I believe we are very safe here. Your aunt has been in the area but there is no reason for her to return. Whoever that man was off the road that thought to shoot at us as we road by, was probably just some ruffian she hired to deal with us so she could continue to hunt down your brother.”
“She has to know where he is going.”
“I would not be surprised if she does know, but dealing with him before he gains any allies would make everything much easier.”
“True. How do you know she was in this area?”
“Recall the men who stole our horses?” He sat across the fire from her and she nodded. “They did not trust her, two of them most adamantly and one more interested in payment due. I believe he went to an arranged meeting place. What I could read by the marks in the dirt is that she pulled up in her carriage, faced him, and three newly hired men came up behind. One of those cut his throat while she watched. Then they dragged his body off into the woods.”
“There is a part of me that knows she is a cold woman, perfectly capable of such things, yet I am still shocked. She is not just cold, she is evil.”
“Since what she is doing is all to gain a title and money, to make herself more important, then, aye, evil is a word that fits. She also showed her new hirelings how she responds to failure.”
“Fear to keep them in line. She is fond of that trick. I now see she used it on me but I have watched her use it on women she needed to hold her place in society no matter how foolish her husband was. Everyone has secrets and she had a very calm, cold way of letting any who thought to criticize her that she knew all of theirs and would have no trouble whispering it into a few important, influential ears. I always thought that was so malicious. Actually said as much to her and she calmly told me that it was how one held one’s place in society. I thought some of it was also a bit of revenge for something bad one of them may have said about her or her husband.”
“Not uncommon in society.”
“It has never sounded like a particularly pleasant place, or rather group, to me and I have managed to avoid it.”
“I was never invited in but from what I have seen amongst the ones in my family who have dealt with it, it is complicated, cutthroat, and often just plain cruel. I have no idea why so many are so desperate to become part of it.”
Bened banked the fire, tugged off his boots, and climbed beneath the blanket of his rough-ground bed. He watched as Primrose did the same and chuckled at her grimace. “It is not bad unless you have found a rock.”
“It all feels like rock to me but I will manage. I just do not understand why men would actually choose to do such a thing.”
“For the thrill of the hunt.”
After shifting around a little, Primrose found a reasonably comfortable position and closed her eyes. “I think it must be a great thrill, for after a night on the ground the whole lot of you must be creeping about the woods like crippled old men. I am certain it makes the hunt very challenging.” She smiled as Bened’s laughter followed her into sleep.
Bened watched her sleep. There were scars on Primrose’s mind and heart, ones put there by a cruel woman who thought she deserved more than she had. If the remembering had begun, there would be a few hard days ahead. It pained him to think it but the world would be a better place without Augusta Wootten in it.
He was just slipping into sleep when she whimpered. He looked at her and saw tears leaking from beneath her closed eyes. Bened sighed and tugged his bedding closer to hers. It would be uncomfortable but he could not leave her hurting like that so he put his arm around her, tugged her close, and calmed her. To his surprise she made a sound as if something pleased her and huddled even closer, resting her head on his shoulder. It was
going to be a long night, he thought, as any urge to sleep was pushed aside by other basic urges it would take time to quell.
Chapter Seven
Bened glanced over at Primrose and grinned. She was looking very flushed and he doubted it was because she had woken up in his arms. It was a warm day and he knew women’s fashions, even the plain serviceable gown she wore, were not the most comfortable attire to wear for a long ride in the sun. The look on her face told him she really wanted to complain but was biting her tongue. The touch of amusement that brought him was a welcome relief from the tight knot of desire he had suffered from for most of the night while thinking far too much about the kiss they had shared.
“’Tis nearly midday,” he said, “and I would like to pause for a bite to eat.”
Primrose tore her gaze from the cool temptation of the river she could see through the trees. “Oh, that would be lovely. Someplace in the shade. And I will take some time to wash off the dirt.”
“What dirt? You look quite fetching. There is a pretty gloss to your skin from the sun.”
“You mean the dew?”
“The what?”
“The dew. That is what my mother used to call it. She said women did not sweat, they became dewy. It will be nice to wash away the dew and the dust of the road with some cool river water.”
“Huh. Dew. That is a very ladylike way of speaking of it. But, I am not sure you should go to the river. We are too close to your aunt’s trail, which appears to matching right along with ours. Might not be safe. River is not too safe, either.”
He watched her out of the corner of his eyes as he spoke. She bit her lip and looked at the river. He was teasing her and it astonished him. It had been years since he had done any teasing, especially with a woman. Bened found that he was enjoying himself.
“It is not dew,” she snapped as she dismounted the moment they halted beneath some trees. “It is sweat. I am sweating like a hard-run horse and I wish to wash it off. And my feet hurt. They feel as if they are twice the size they were when I put my boots on. I want to put them in that water. ’Tis calling to me.” She yanked a small towel and some fresh stockings from her bag. “I am going down to the river,” she added in a tone that practically begged him to argue with her.
If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance) Page 8