The Renegade Wife

by Warfield, Caroline

  “Stew. Two bowls and some bread,” he ordered. The man began to fill two heavy crockery bowls. “Business good?” Rand asked.

  The publican lifted his shoulders. “Good enough.” He handed over the two bowls of stew. “Canal brings traffic. The army over at Perth uses it for patrols and troop transport.”

  Rand passed him payment. “Ever need an extra hand?”

  The man stared at him. “You looking for work, Wheatly? The word in the village is that your folks’re nobs, for all you don’t dress like ‘un.”

  “Not me, no,” Rand said, bristling at the personal remark. He indicated Drew. “That youngster needs honest work.”

  “Mighty young. If’n I needed a worker—which I don’t—I wouldn’t hire no baby.” At the sound of feet and a cacophony of talk, the man’s attention went to the door. A dozen red-coated soldiers jostled one another on their way in. “The damned lobster backs ‘r on patrol up river again. I hope they want to spend money and not just cut up the peace,” the man said, wiping his hands.

  “Ale!” one shouted, “and plenty of it!” The tavern keeper hurried to comply.

  Rand watched them for a moment. Armies had camp followers, he knew, but he doubted some half-sized unit on its way down the Tay to Perth would take on a woman and two children, at least not in any respectable function. He stuffed two pieces of thick brown bread in his pockets, picked up the bowls of steaming stew, and headed back to where he left Drew.

  Two soldiers, elbows on table, booted feet lazily stretched into the aisle, now sat where Drew had been a moment before.

  “Where’s the boy?” Rand demanded.

  “What boy?” one of them asked. Neither showed any sign of giving up their seats.

  Rand turned in a full circle, bowls of stew still in hand.

  The tavern held no sign of him. He had disappeared.

  Drew dropped both bowls on the table. “My compliments,” he mumbled to the startled soldiers and darted toward the door.

  “Watch yourself!” The voice in Rand’s ear, hostile and harsh, saved him from running into a burly solder coming in the door. Rand stood a step back from the man. He had a build of a bull, the insignia of a sergeant, and the manner of a man used to forcing his will on others.

  “Did you see a boy?” Rand asked.

  “Why would I care about your brat?” The man brushed past Rand, shoving one shoulder just enough to throw his weight around. Rand had no time to protest. He had to find Drew. He scanned the room, looking behind chairs and under tables.

  “Sir?” a voice called from a table by the door. “Sorry about Blair. He hates everyone, and he’s angry that we’re stranded here a day,” a young soldier whispered, glancing furtively after his sergeant to make sure he wasn’t heard. “I saw the kitchen door shut when we sat down. You might try out back.”

  Rand thanked him and hurried out. Blair. Bad pieced of work that. Puts me in mind of Douglas Gibb.

  He rounded the tavern to the alley behind but saw nothing. He pushed his way into the filthy kitchen at the back and still saw nothing. “Did a boy come in here?” he demanded.

  The cook gave him a sour scowl. “Do I look like a nursemaid? No place for children in here.”

  Sullen eyes watched Rand peer under worktables and behind a barrel. “I told ya. No boys here.” When Rand made to lift the lid of the barrel, the man hefted a nasty-looking cleaver, and Rand beat a sensible retreat.

  Out in the alley, he searched in either direction. The hodgepodge of buildings along the river stuck out at odd angles, preventing an unobstructed view. Rand hurried to check on his horse and saddlebags. Finding them unmolested, he held the reins and led the horse up the street.

  Where is that damned kid? And why do I care? The mother probably taught him how to slip away. If he gets himself into trouble, he isn’t my problem.

  Rand stomped a block or so along the river before one contrary thought nagged at him. He was hungry. What would make him take off without his lunch?

  He turned on a curse and led the horse back in the direction he’d come. He retraced his steps, went behind the tavern, and picked along carefully between buildings for fifteen minutes before he heard a whimper. Behind the land office under a makeshift porch, he spotted two threadbare boots. He leaned down to glare at their owner.

  “Out of there!” he ordered. For a moment, he thought his quarry would ignore him. “Now!” he repeated in a roar. The boy began to scoot forward, but he hesitated at the opening, glancing around, before he came out. He stood with his head down, staring at the ground.

  “What did you think you were doing running off on me? If you don’t want to come back, you just need to say so. I’ll leave you here.”

  The head rose, panic on the boy’s face. “No! I want to go back. Don’t leave me here. Please don’t leave me here.”

  “You don’t like towns,” Rand said.

  Drew nodded.

  “Just like your mother.”

  He nodded again.

  What spooked him? The tavern? Not likely. The soldiers. He talks about a captain, but a platoon sends him running.

  “If you don’t plan to stay, let’s go then. Up with you.” He boosted him to the saddle and jumped up behind him, coaxing the horse back onto the main street and heading for the road out.

  “We didn’t get lunch,” a quiet voice said.

  “Nope. And that would be your fault.”

  Drew had no answer. Rand reached down in the pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a hunk of bread. Drew took it with a trembling hand and wolfed it down. They didn’t talk again. Rand mulled over what he’d seen all the way home.

  The sky was nearly dark when they rode up to Rand’s house. He saw no light upstairs, but a candle glowed in the kitchen. He handed Drew down, untied the bags of supplies, lit a lantern, and began to unbuckle the horse’s girth. After he pulled off the saddle, he handed the reins and a curry brush to the boy.

  “See to the horse,” Rand said.

  Drew met his gaze with huge eyes.

  “Just brush him. You can do that one-handed. I’ll come out to check in a few minutes.” First, I want a moment alone with your mother.

  He dropped his greatcoat on the chair in the front parlor and strode into the dim kitchen. When he dropped the bags on the table, the woman at the stove jumped. She turned and watched him light the lantern hung on a wall hook. He wanted a good look at her. She gaped back, skittish.

  “How is the fever?”

  “Still there. Better I think.”

  Rand watched her for a moment. Would she milk a child’s illness to take advantage of me? Probably. I’ll see for myself, but first I need answers.

  “What are you running from?” he demanded. “Why do you avoid towns? And why in God’s name is your son terrified of soldiers?”

  Chapter 8

  A rabbit, when trapped, will freeze, afraid to twitch a whisker or breathe deeply, to make itself invisible to its predator. Meggy went still as she had learned to do when she had felt like prey before. She had hoped never to feel that way again, but once more life disappointed her.

  “Well?” Rand demanded, glaring at her. The table lay between them, but he stood between her and the door.

  Trapped. Her mind sped up even as her body stilled. She wondered if she could trust him with the truth. Lies could trap as well.

  “What are you running from, woman? Don’t dare lie to me.”

  Meggy let out the breath she held. How much can I tell him? she wondered.

  “Unless you want to leave now and take your children with you, tell me all of it.”

  She briefly considered doing that, but thoughts of Lena stopped her.

  “Drew fears soldiers because one hurt him,” she whispered at last.

  The E
nglishman didn’t relent. He stood with his arms folded, back ramrod straight. Something in his face, however, reassured her. His eyes didn’t seem cruel, merely determined, and he had been kind to Drew.

  “His arm. A soldier broke his arm,” she said.

  His eyes widened, and Meggy could swear she saw pain in them.

  “What soldier? When? Where?” His voice, if anything, had become harsher.

  “Two weeks ago. As you have seen, it is far from healed. The bone snapped completely but didn’t break the skin.” Her voice shook at the memory. She despised her weakness.

  “You splinted it yourself? Why?”

  “Who else would do it? I had no money for a surgeon.”

  “Why didn’t you ask the army surgeon?”

  Meggy’s hand shook when she grabbed on to a chair for support. Her knees had gone weak, and she suspected the blood had drained from her face.

  “Why would I do that?” she managed in an unsteady voice.

  “Drew speaks of a captain. He ran errands for him. You said a soldier broke his arm. You were near an encampment, if not actually camp followers. Did you tell his commanding officer?”

  “About the surgeon?”

  An explosion of movement brought him across the room, his face inches from hers. She backed up into the sink, putting her hands behind her to hold on.

  “About the man who hurt him! Who was it?” he demanded.

  It was too much. She had been a victim too long. She would not do it again. Anger gave her strength. She pulled herself upright and leaned into his face, giving him anger for anger.

  “His father, damn you! His father broke his arm. I didn’t tell his commanding officer because he would have done nothing. They may disapprove, but they do nothing.”

  She pushed at his chest with both hands. “No one interferes in a man’s own home, no matter who he hits,” she shouted. “No matter how often.”

  He stepped back, and she had the satisfaction of knowing he was speechless, at least for a moment. She took advantage to squeeze around him and reached the other side of the table before he spoke.

  “Are you or are you not a widow?” he demanded. His eyes, ice blue and sharp as glass, cut through her defenses and left her feeling vulnerable. She hated that feeling.

  I should say I am, but what tale could I spin that would not unravel? “No,” she said, at last telling no tale at all. She stood her ground, determined not to let him bully her.

  “You lied to me,” he spat. “You’ve run from him and taken his children?”

  Meggy refused to respond at first, momentarily stunned by the shock she saw in his face. Something else Meggy couldn’t interpret gave an undertone to his voice, and she didn’t try to understand it. In her mind, men all saw things one way, and whatever he thought wouldn’t be to her benefit.

  “I did,” she said finally, forcing her lips to stop quivering, “and I would do it again.” She held on to her anger and pointed at his face, punctuating her words with one finger. “You will not send us back. You will not drag me in front of the company like a felon.”

  Thoughts of a grown man attacking a child brought back memories, foul and black, that drove Rand out of the house and running up the hill behind it, a half mile down the lane, and back. Regular exercise kept his demons at bay. If ever he needed it, he did after listening to the woman’s story.

  It might be as bad as she says, he kept telling himself, or she might well be playing me for sympathy. One thing I know: she and her children aren’t my problem.

  Only when Rand came near the barn did he think about the boy. Memory of Drew’s pain and the way he stiffened at any mention of his father shamed him. The boy’s reaction verified his mother’s claims. What kind of man injures his own son? Could I stand by like the army and let it happen?

  He leaned against the stall, his breath heaving from the run, and saw Drew struggle to curry the big horse as he had been told.

  What do you plan to do? Badger the little nipper into telling you more ugly stories than you got out of his mother?

  Drew handed Rand the brush. He looked apologetic and, to Rand’s shame, fearful. “I brushed what I could reach. Both sides. He let me brush the leaves from his tail, too.”

  Rand touched the horse’s back. “Well done,” he said over the catch in his throat. “He’ll do for tonight. Help me feed and water him, and we’ll go inside and get you warm.”

  Moments later, he sat the boy down in the kitchen and began poking around in the pots on the stovetop. When he interrupted Meggy, she’d been fixing dinner. He found potatoes in one pot, a roasted animal of some sort—rabbit he thought—in the other. He sliced off a hunk and piled potatoes next to it on a plate. When he put the plate on the table, Drew eyed it greedily but held back.

  “Aren’t you going to eat, sir?”

  The last thing Rand wanted was food. He remembered belatedly that the little fellow had missed his lunch. That, and the memory of his confrontation with Drew’s mother, left him with no appetite and a sick stomach.

  “No, lad. You eat. I need to rest.”

  He left the boy tucking into his meal and wandered into his study. He dropped into his favorite chair.

  A runaway wife! Not just an interloper, a lawbreaker—practically a felon. God knows what she thinks she’s doing, but she can’t take a man’s children, not legally.

  He stared at the empty hearth and began to remove his boots. If the father gets her scent, he’ll have the magistrate at my door.

  He threw one boot across the room. All I want is my house back and my peace. Is that too damn much to ask?

  “Where is my son?” Meggy Campeau stood in the doorway with her daughter wrapped in one of his blankets and a pack slung over her back.

  “What the hell are you trying to do?” he roared as he padded over in his stockings.

  His shout brought Drew running from the kitchen. “Mama, what’s happening?”

  “We’re leaving, like we should have done this morning. Get your jacket on.” She pulled her daughter tighter when Rand reached up to take the girl from her. Her eyes had the feral glare of a mother lion protecting her cubs.

  “What do you think you are doing with those children? That thin garment your son wears hardly qualifies as a coat with a Canadian winter coming on,” Rand said, getting up a full head of steam. “The little one still feels feverish. What kind of a mother shows so little concern for her children?” He reached for the girl again.

  When she pulled back, he stepped away and held both hands in front of him. He didn’t try to pry the girl loose, but he blocked Meggy’s way to the door.

  “You can’t do this,” Rand said. “You can’t take them out.”

  “Are you going to hold us prisoner?” The quiver in her voice told him she wasn’t sure he wouldn’t try to do that.

  “No. I’m going to reason with you. You told me they don’t all recover.”

  She went so pale he reached out a hand to catch her if she fell. I’m playing dirty, but the damned woman needs to listen to reason.

  “If you try to live rough with that child, you’ll lose her,” he said, his eyes boring into hers.

  Meggy sat down on the step abruptly, clutching her daughter. Drew ran up behind Rand and squeezed in next to his mother, putting his good arm around her. She began to shake and sob.

  Rand shut his eyes in frustration. One moment she tried to haul her children out into the night. The next she’s a watering pot. If she’s trying to manipulate me, it’s working.

  He reached out again. “Let me carry her up. Get her well, and then you will leave.” As soon as I can get them out of here safely, they’re going.

  “You’ll call the authorities,” she sobbed into the blanket around her daughter.

  Will I? He sh
ook the thought away. “No. That I will not do,” he said.

  At her shocked expression, he went on, “I don’t need the aggravation. If you get her well and get on your way in a week, I’ll leave it at that. Your problems are your own business.”

  Skepticism marked every line of her expression as she scrutinized him long and hard.

  “Exactly so,” she said. “I’ll get her well. I will. And then we’ll leave you to your peace.” She let him take the little body from her.

  Rand pulled the child into his arms. When he carried her up to her bed, she felt so light she didn’t seem to weigh any more than Cat. That creature, he noticed, had taken up residence on the same bed. When he laid the girl down, it curled up at her side.

  He reached over and scratched Cat between her ears. “Traitor!”

  “Thank you,” Meggy breathed behind him. She dropped her pathetic little bundle of belongings next to the bed and unwound her shawls. He made a mental note to check what she had packed.

  “Go down and make sure your son eats. I’ll sit with her,” he said.

  She left Rand alone with his cat and the feverish child. He crossed to the bed and wrung out a cool rag.

  “Shall I cool your face?”

  The solemn-eyed child nodded.

  “Have the fairies gone?” he asked. He hoped for a smile but received a slow nod.

  “I was ha, um, loose-nating,” she whispered. “I’m better now.”

  He smiled down at her. “Good.”

  The sooner the better. God help me. Now I’m harboring fugitives. What am I going to do when they come for her?

  Deep in the night, staring into the fire in his study, hard truths gave him no peace. Meggy Campeau isn’t the sister who abandoned you to the bullies in public school. She isn’t Julia who left you for your best friend, he told himself. She may have trespassed, but she’s done you no real harm. She didn’t deserve his anger.