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

by Hannah Howell

  That added a little thrill to the game and she smiled. Out of the corner of her eyes, she watched Carl frown and step back. It pleased her that she could frighten any of the men who worked for her. That was what she craved. Power. The money she would gain would be nice but what she really wanted was power. She ached to hold the lives of the workers of Willow Hill in her hand. She wanted people in society to accept that she was their equal if not more.

  No more would she be just Rufford’s wife, his supplicant. Nor would she be relegated to just planning the dinner or making certain the maids did their work. A baroness was not very high in the ranks but high enough, far higher than the wife of a mere second son of a baron. It would be what she would make of it and she had plans to make it a power to be reckoned with.

  Her first mistake had been to marry the wrong man. She had chosen the heir but before she could get him to the altar he had met that pale, skinny Miriam and married her. It was love, he had told her, and Augusta growled. So she had turned her attention on the younger son. Heirs did die on a regular basis, she had thought. The old baron had died before she had felt compelled to nudge him along but his heir had proven a very lucky man, or a very smart one, and her success had almost come too late to save herself from her husband’s follies. Now she just had Miriam’s brats to be rid of and she wondered yet again why she had not been more forthright in getting rid of them years ago.

  “M’lady?”

  Augusta glared at the man as if he had interrupted some important plan. “Who is watching us?”

  “Those Wherlockes the big feller went to visit.”

  “Wherlockes?” said Jenson, who then fought to hide his alarm when both Carl and his mistress turned to stare at him.

  “Do you know of them?” asked Augusta.

  “They are often the subject of gossip. I have, in my years as a valet, met some of their valets and butlers. Fine men and usually had the odd name of Pugh or the very common one of Jones.”

  “Jenson, I realize the servants would be of interest to you but they are not to me. Who are the Wherlockes?”

  “A very large family. Male children are the usual so some have actually made some very good marriages because of that. Lords needing to build their stock of heirs marry off a daughter to one of them if they can. Very closely bound, m’lady. Stand by and behind every single member of their family. I believe some of that may come from a past strewn with witch hunts and persecutions but also because there appears to be a tendency for parents to leave their children.”

  “I suspect a lot of people think on doing that but you say these Wherlockes actually do it?”

  “They do not do it, the one they married does. Because they cannot abide what the Wherlockes are said to be and how that has come out in the child they bred.”

  “Jenson, just tell us. Be blunt, you old fool.”

  “It is believed by many that the Wherlockes and the other half of their family, the Vaughns, are cursed, witches, creatures of the devil, and other such nonsense. They appear to be gifted.” Seeing how both Carl and Augusta were frowning at him, Jenson added, “Some can see the future, some can see ghosts, and such as that. Gifted.”

  “Nonsense.” Augusta sipped her tea and studied Carl. “Is that why your men did not silence that girl we spoke with the other day. Was she gifted?”

  “I was not here, m’lady. But the ones watching us do have some skill. I would not have even seen them if not for some drunken fool bellowing a greeting to one of them.”

  “They live near here; just because one has come into the village does not mean he is following us.”

  “It appears several families of them have come into the village, m’lady. Everywhere we turn, there is one of them. Not all adults, either. Last one I nearly tripped over as I walked away from where another stood was a little girl. She would not move and so I pushed her aside. Little brat fell down and started screeching so I ran.”

  “And just how did you get wet?”

  “It rained.”

  “I noticed no rain and you are in the same village as I am.”

  “It rained on me, m’lady.”

  “Just on you.”

  “I know it sounds mad, but, aye, just on me.”

  “I see,” she said in a tone that made it clear she thought him an idiot. “Well, go on with your story.”

  “When I moved on as quick as can be without actually running, a whole swarm of them gathered round her and some followed me. Went into the public house to tell my lads what to watch for and there were a few in there, sitting at the table right next to our men.”

  “Having an ale, no doubt. How very suspicious.”

  Carl shook his head. “M’lady, I been what you hired for a long time and I know right well when I’m being watched. That is what is happening here and they are nay even trying to hide it.”

  “If you insist, we will leave as soon as I finish my meal. Go on and tell the others.”

  After he was gone, Augusta watched Jenson. The man was becoming rebellious in that way upper servants did. All polite talk, the barbs so carefully hidden one did not always know what had been said to make the one who got slapped by the barb wince and back away. It might be time to remind him, yet again, of what the cost would be if he got too rebellious.

  “Jenson, pack our things,” she ordered. “We will be leaving soon. My niece shall pay dearly for causing me so much trouble,” she muttered as, with Jenson’s aid, she donned her traveling coats, hat, and gloves and left the room.

  Jenson stared at the door for a minute. The woman intended to kill the baron’s daughter. Just how much more did the bitch want to make an innocent girl pay for that? And what had the young master ever done to hurt his aunt? Nothing, as far as Jenson knew, unless one counted never having a word to say to the woman or his clever avoidance of all her matchmaking plans for him.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and put his face in his hands. He so badly wanted out of the mess he was in. Yet the fate of his brother and his family rested in his hands. His darling baby daughter, one he had begot upon a kitchen maid who died in birthing the child and whom he had never had the common decency to marry, was also at stake. Augusta had threatened to destroy everyone who mattered to him and he fully believed the woman was capable of it.

  He rose and moved to look out the window. There were an impressive number of people wandering somewhat aimlessly around the inn. All handsome people, mostly male and with black hair. He suspected those were the Wherlockes. The fact that they were not even trying to be very secretive in watching Augusta must annoy her and that made him smile.

  A little girl with thick black curls looked up at the window and he could see the blue of her eyes even from there. She waved and he cautiously waved back. She stood and scowled toward Augusta when the woman appeared to direct the packing of her carriage. When the woman went back inside the inn the little girl skipped after her and Jenson became concerned. He was about to go downstairs to make sure the child stayed away from the woman when a soft rap came at the door.

  He opened the door cautiously and then looked down. Those blue eyes stared at him and then she smiled. A beguiling child, he thought, and looked around to make sure Augusta was not approaching.

  “She is in the kitchens telling the people there precisely how to pack a basket of food for her to take on her journey,” the little girl said. “You can tell me what you have to tell me now.”

  “Why do you think I have anything to say?”

  “Because it is chewing its way right out of you so best to get it said quick before she comes.”

  “She is going to follow them.”

  “We know.”

  “And she knows where they are going. To their maternal uncle.”

  “We know that, too. Has she hired more men?” she asked after a moment of obvious thought.

  “I fear she has. Some scum she found in the public house or, rather Carl found for her.”

  “Thank you, sir. You need to get away
from her.”

  “I cannot. She will hurt my family.”

  “She is going to kill you. Best if you run. No need to worry about your family. She is done. We just want to”—she hesitated and frowned a little—“make certain she does not take the ones we need to save down with her. There. That was all.” She shook a tiny finger at him. “Now do as you are told and run then hide until you hear she is gone for all time but not until the morrow.”

  “Why not until the morrow?”

  “Because you have to help save our Bened.”

  “Me? You must be mistaken, child.”

  “No. Delmar told me to tell you that. He said it would help give you some spine. He saw it so it is true, too. You best be believing it. Save Bened then run and hide.”

  Before he could ask any more she was gone. He listened carefully but could not even hear the patter of her feet as she ran down the stairs. It was odd that the Wherlockes would send a child with such a warning although, if he judged right, she did very well at recalling any specific message she was to give. And, now that he considered it, who would notice a child or care what she had to say to anyone?

  A tiny spark of hope flickered to weak life in his heart. Perhaps, for once, Augusta had chosen the wrong people to anger. And it appeared there might be some truth about the rumors concerning the Wherlockes. He took a deep breath and returned to preparations for the never-ending journey they appeared to be on.

  It would help give him some spine, a child had said. It did not matter that she had just been repeating someone’s message, which was undoubtedly just from another child. He had seen the judgment of his cowardice in her startlingly beautiful eyes and that was enough. That stung and he could almost feel his back straighten. He would do it. If his fate was headed his way, he would greet it like a man and just, maybe, ruin Augusta’s grand plans for her glorious future of reigning like a queen over society. Even better, he would be the one who saved a good man who was only trying to do what was right.

  Chapter Twelve

  Pacing around the campsite was not helping anyone, Primrose scolded herself. She turned to go back to her bedding on the ground, careful to avoid Boudicca who had been pacing right along beside her. Sitting down on the blankets, she welcomed the puppy onto her lap and lightly scratched the dog’s soft ears.

  Bened had been gone for too long. Although they had traveled for a long time to reach this spot, and with as few stops as possible along the way, there had been no sign of her aunt or any of her hired men. Primrose had begun to believe the Wherlockes had done as promised and delayed the woman. It had been wonderful to relax but now Bened was missing. What could Bened have found that was keeping him away from her for so long? Just how far had he gone to seek out anyone who might be following them?

  Something was wrong. Primrose was certain of it. She had fought to ignore a growing feeling of unease but had failed miserably. Unlike the Wherlockes and their ilk, she had no gifts, but she was inclined to have very trustworthy instincts. Right now those instincts were telling her that Bened needed help.

  Setting Boudicca aside, she stood up and checked her pistol before the light faded any more. Primrose hesitated and then put Boudicca in her basket. If she was just allowing the fear of waiting alone in the dark direct her, she would quietly accept the lecture she was certain Bened would burn her ears with, but she could not risk dismissing the overwhelming feeling that something had gone wrong. Everything inside of her, heart, mind, and gut, was telling her that this time it was Bened who needed help and protection.

  Having watched Bened closely as he followed a trail and listened to the answers he had calmly given her every question, Primrose tried to see the signs of which way he had gone. His big horse made it easier than she suspected it would have been if Bened had walked away but Primrose doubted she could follow the trail for long. If Bened had tried to hide it, she was doomed.

  She came upon another small clearing and frowned. Something had stirred up the ground but she knew she had no chance of reading it as well as Bened could have. Then she heard the jingle of a harness and looked up to see two tall, dark men sitting at the edge of the clearing, watching her. A soft growl of warning came from deep inside the little basket she still carried Boudicca in. One of the two men grinned and, even as she pointed her pistol at them, she began to believe she was facing some of Bened’s family. The Wherlockes and Vaughns did share a certain look and the one grinning at her looked a lot like Bened except with the softer handsomeness so many women sought.

  “We are not the enemy, m’lady,” said the one who smiled.

  “Well, since you have not yet thought to tell me who you are, I cannot be certain of that, can I?”

  “I am Morris Wherlocke and this is Bened’s brother Bevan. We got to Argus shortly after you and Bened rode away. Argus sent us out to watch the woman and her men. We watched them follow you and so decided we had best come along as well.”

  Primrose sighed as her heart clenched with fear even as she looked back down at the disturbed ground and saw the sparkle caused by the sunlight touching a drop of blood. “They have him.”

  “Now, we cannot be certain of that yet,” said Bevan as he dismounted and crouched down near the spot where the ground was most disturbed.

  She watched him study it and waited patiently for his opinion. “Someone took Bened,” she said again as her patience swiftly ran out. “I have been watching and studying how Bened reads the ground. I know it is his gift.”

  “Oh, it is. Bened could look at tracks like this and tell you how many were here, their height and weight, male or female, and probably even what they had to eat for their morning meal. All I can see is that someone tussled here.”

  “And bled.” Primrose pointed to the blood splattered on the leaves. “And if I recall my lessons correctly . . .”

  “Bened was teaching you?”

  “Explaining. I kept asking how he could know what he did and he would try to explain. I have a very precise memory”—she frowned—“except for a few short spaces from my childhood, and recall all he said. I also know Mercury’s print. They took him away on the back of Mercury.”

  “Show me,” Bevan said, and ignored Morris when the man walked up to crouch down beside him. “Come and show me. With what I know and what you say, we might find the answers we need.”

  Primrose carefully set her basket down on unmarked grass and crouched next to Bened’s brother. “We agree some men came here where Bened was or had been. Correct?”

  “Yes, and I would say three or four men.”

  “Four. The hoofprints are clearer outside this area and it shows four horses entering this clearing from the road and only one coming from the direction of our camp. All five horses, when they went off, were carrying a man’s weight, one just a bit more awkwardly than the others. I think they tossed Bened over Mercury’s back and the way so much of Bened would be dangling and moving around made the horse’s gait far more awkward. But they hurt Bened.” She shifted and looked at it from another direction. “One of the men came up behind him.”

  “That is impossible. No one can come up on my brother from behind. That is also part of his gift. He can feel the enemy, feel them and know where they are and how many there are.”

  “I cannot explain how his gift failed him this time but it did. These prints say that someone came up behind Bened even as he faced off with the other men. It could be that he simply was too busy fighting off one threat to face the one he knew snuck up behind him.”

  Bevan sighed. “I can see it now.” He carefully stood up and walked until he located a clear trail of the horses leaving the clearing. “They have made no attempt to hide their trail so we should be able to track them down.”

  “Just allow me to collect my horse,” Primrose said.

  “Wait!” Morris called, and she halted to look at him. “This could be dangerous. I do not think you should go with us.”

  “I see. So you think it better if I, a woman with only a ti
ny dog, sit here in the wood, in the dark, and hope no one comes along to cause me trouble? That is better.”

  “Oh, very good, m’lady,” Morris grumbled. “Go get your horse.”

  As Primrose left she heard Bevan say, “What?! Are you mad? Why did you agree to that?”

  “And what would you say? Everything she said was right. There are no choices. She goes with us, which could be dangerous, or stays here, which could also be dangerous. So she goes with us and at least we can set her someplace safe while we help your brother.”

  “Set me someplace safe, is it?” Primrose grumbled as she collected her things and packed them on her horse. “Men, Smudge. They can be such a nuisance. You are lucky to be surrounded by geldings.” She mounted and hurried back to join the men.

  “That was quick,” said Morris.

  “You sound so surprised,” she said.

  “I am. Women . . .” His words ended on a loud oof as Bevan swung his arm into the man’s stomach. “What did you do that for?”

  “To stop you from digging a grave for yourself. We will follow the trail now, m’lady,” said Bevan.

  It took all her willpower to smother a laugh despite the fear for Bened eating at her. It was evident that Morris and Bevan had known each other for a while or, like a very fortunate few, had become lasting friends within moments of meeting. They would work well together and that could only be good for Bened.

  The sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon when they paused on a small hill overlooking a very small village. It was so small that Primrose was able to see Augusta’s carriage for it sat behind the inn. It was obviously too large to fit into the stables and there was no appropriate carriage house for it. A river already busy with barges shone under the rising sun. What Primrose did not see in any abundance was sheep, or cattle, or crops despite many open fields.

  “There is something odd about this town,” she said.

  “Smugglers’ town,” said Morris.

  “But it is on the river.”

  “Not all goods are smuggled only by sea and, if a deal has been made, the smugglers will get their goods wherever they are being asked and paid for. Taken from a ship and put on a barge.”