by Conn, Claudy
Silkie’s shod hooves clopped along the deserted street and echoed loudly in the stillness. Myriah looked around warily as they passed stores and narrow, darkened alleyways on their path down to High Street.
She gave a sigh of relief as she came to High Street. She pulled out the crude map Dibbs had drawn for her. Yes, this was the way, and she continued down High Street towards the center of the village.
The sound of men at pleasure began teasing her ears, and Myriah again was assailed with doubt.
She looked into the narrow alleyway that led to the inn’s rear entrance and stableyard with hesitation. The alley was just wide enough for her and Silkie to pass. It was lined with two-story buildings, with only a few brightly lit windows giving off their light. The sounds of revelry, fuller now in its proximity, made her tense with fear, for she had never before gone into such a place and had never before even thought of going alone down such a path.
A man popped his head out of an open window just above her, and Myriah jumped, startled by the unexpectedness of the action. He laughed coarsely. “Fidgety lad, ain’t ye?”
She ignored both the man and his taunt and continued to lead her horse up the sloped alleyway to where a large, square barnyard stood.
Hostlers came scurrying out of everywhere anxious to be of service, hoping to receive a sizable gratuity for their service. She gave Silkie’s reins into the hands of one of the boys and dropped a coin in his palm.
“Water him and hold him ready for me. I shall return shortly,” she said in a voice she felt was credibly masculine.
And as he was far more interested in the coin she gave him than in the huskiness of her voice, he scarcely glanced at her.
Myriah attempted a lad’s swagger as she stalked into the inn, passing through a rear small tavern room where several older men mildly glanced her way before she entered the long hallway.
She had not seen Kit in the small room, nor did she find him in the sitting room to her right. A quick glance out the hall window into the enclosed courtyard told her that he was not lurking about outside. She was worrying over the problem as she turned and walked into the belly of the substantially sized innkeeper.
“Eh, now, laddie—what be yer hurry? Ye look a bit young to go sauntering free as ye please into my ken.” The man wiping his hands on his white apron looked friendly enough.
“Oh, if you please … I am looking for Lord Wimborne,” Myriah said, hoping her voice would pass.
He eyed her a moment, thinking her a sickly looking lad. “Got business with ’is lordship, ’ave ye? Well now, why don’t ye give me yer name, and I’ll go inform ’im you be ’ere wanting a word with ’im.”
“Very well … tell him Master White needs him immediately.”
The innkeeper went off in the direction of the main tavern room at the end of the corridor and left “Master” White to pace the hall in what might have seemed to any observer a most frenzied fashion.
As it happened, Sir Roland, just as Tabby had thought and advised her, was not only in the area but had taken up residence at the Mermaid Inn, and he chose that moment to round the corner in the hallway and stop short some ten feet away from Myriah.
She nearly gasped out loud as she turned her face from him and moved into one of the tavern’s smaller rooms. All she could think was that Sir Roland was only a few feet away. What was she to do? What if he recognized her through her disguise?
And then she looked up and saw Kit in the far corner with Fletcher at his side, deep in conversation with another man. He looked up as though he felt her gaze, and their eyes locked. She saw at once that he became concerned for Billy, and as he took long, hard strides to her and held her by her shoulders, she squeaked out, “No! Billy will do … the doctor is with him … right now.”
“Then what the deuce are you doing here … like this?” he hissed.
“Dibbs … he came … needs you …”
Kit and Fletcher, who had sidled over in time to hear the last of this exchange, exchanged glances, and Fletcher said, “Oi’ll be getting the horses and meet ye in the courtyard.”
“Aye …” Kit said as he took Myriah’s hand and led her outside, heedless of what people might think to see him holding a boy’s hand as though it were a treasure.
Myriah was conscious of the trembling shivers his touch always made her experience, but out of the corner of her eye she saw something—someone else. Sir Roland.
He had followed them outside, and now Sir Roland was looking at her black stallion … and Sir Roland had often seen her black to know …
She was undone!
* * *
Kit’s mind worked hard. What was Dibbs doing at Wimborne? He thought everything had been settled on his last trip to London. What had gone wrong? What could have brought Dibbs here in the dead of night?
Just before Myriah had appeared, he had asked the men that served him to wait on him for the final details of their next crossing, which would not be until the night after this, when the moon would be at its peak. They needed enough men ready to unload their cargo when they returned, and the timing was crucial.
And with all that to deal with … Myriah was still forever infiltrating his thoughts. By all that was holy, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He saw her face at every turn. She was a constant, a need that rubbed him raw.
She played around in his head, turning up when he least expected it, and now here she was in the flesh, dressed as a boy! Would she ever cease to amaze him? He wanted to lecture her, but damn, she had come through on this one.
Just who was this Myriah White?
* * *
Myriah’s thoughts were a jumble as she rode Silkie in a fast-paced trot in an effort to keep alongside Kit’s dark bay gelding.
She was in the suds. Sir Roland would inquire about who Kit was, and then he would know she was at Wimborne. Perhaps he would think she was on a lark … pretending to be a lad?
What was she going to do? If such was not enough to distract her, there was Kit, whom she loved with all her heart. His voice went through her, tickled feelings of need, and she wanted to tell him who she was … but she couldn’t. She wanted him first to declare himself, so she could be sure he loved her … not her wealth.
He was in trouble; she knew that much, but nothing more. Who was this odd man, Dibbs, and what had he to do with Kit? What was Kit doing at the Mermaid Inn? Who had been with him in the tavern? Why had Fletcher been with him? Absolutely no answers presented themselves to Myriah before they turned onto the drive that led to Wimborne’s front double doors.
Kit had not said a word to Myriah since his first questions, and except for a sideways glance every now and then, she had not been sure he cared whether or not she and Fletcher kept up the pace. However, he was off his horse and scooping her down from hers before she realized what he was about.
Surprised by his sudden attention, she eyed him shyly, unsure of herself and feeling unattractive in her boy’s attire.
He smiled and took her hand. “You look a veritable child. Why had I not seen that before?” he whispered softly before turning to Fletcher. “I am sorry, Fletch, to leave you to see to the horses on your own, but I must get Miss White indoors and meet with Dibbs.”
“Aye, that I will, though yah best be nobbut a moment, fer there’s no tellin’ how long thay’ll wait on us,” Fletcher grumbled.
“Don’t be such a woman, Fletcher!” His lordship laughed and took Myriah’s arm, leading her into the house.
“Wisht, wisht, that won’t hold!” returned his groom, walking all three horses away with a shake of his head.
Kit rushed up the stairs, pulling Myriah with him, and he looked as though he was in high spirits. She had no notion what had occurred to send him soaring but was heartily thankful that he was at least at peace with her.
When they reached Billy’s room, Myriah stopped suddenly and looked inquiringly into his face. “My lord, I believe you will want to be private with Mr. Dibbs, and I am sure
Billy will want to be in on the conversation. Therefore, I shall retire to my room until such time as I am needed.”
He looked down into her face and smiled, and the glow she saw in his gray eyes set her heart racing. “Will you never, ever cease to surprise me, sweetings?”
She had no answer to this question and thought that this was the moment to retreat, which she did. Now Myriah was as curious as any female, and the questions that taunted her needed answers, yet she was often governed by instinct, and ’twas instinct that made her retreat suddenly.
She sat in the darkness and waited for a knock to sound on her door, smiling to herself. Finally, yes, finally, the high and mighty Viscount of Wimborne Towers was beginning to find her not so very hard to like! She had done him a service and had asked nothing in return, not even the chance of listening to their secrets.
The knock sounded at her door and she breathed a sigh of relief—finally.
She rushed across the blackness to stand looking up at Kit’s beloved face as he raised a brow, and she was struck by his larger-than-life quality. When his voice came, she felt herself tremble.
“Why were you sitting in the darkness, Myriah?”
“What? Oh, it helps me to think at times.” Her voice was barely audible.
“And you have so much to think about?” inquired Kit, standing too close, and looking at her in a way that made it difficult for her to think at all.
“Faith! Can you ask such a thing? Here you are … a total mystery … and I am human. So, yes, I must admit to my curiosity—in fact, ’tis threatening to overcome me.”
He laughed good-naturedly and flicked her nose. “Thank you, Myriah, for everything … for the questions you don’t ask … and for what you did tonight, though, in truth, I never want you to try such a thing again. ’Tis too dangerous, and I don’t like you going about at night alone … but I do thank you. It was more than anyone else would do under the circumstances.”
“You have this lamentable habit of exaggerating, my lord,” she said breathlessly. “I don’t know what to make of you. One moment you think me some sort of monstrous female seducing young lads with bullet holes in their arms, and then, suddenly I am a heroine of stupendous qualities.” She giggled. “My dear sir … I am quite certain I did what anyone would do, given no other choice—and I had no other choice!”
“I see you must have a very peculiar notion of me indeed. But let it go for the present.” Kit said, taking both her hands, “Thank you, Myriah … I know what this must look like to you, and perhaps soon I will be able to explain.” He put her fingers to his lips and closed his eyes as he kissed them, and Myriah’s body went into overdrive.
“Come, Myriah,” he said softly, leading her across the hall.
They entered Billy’s room and were greeted with a sunny smile. “Never say you’ve brought her back in here, Kit! Hang it, man … why would you want to do that to me—didn’t I tell you she’s a devil? Even let my broth get cold, she did,” Billy accused with a wide grin.
“Odious brat—if you don’t have a care, I shall not make it up to you by bringing you another bowl.”
“She-devil … that is precisely what I have hoped for. If you don’t bring me some meat, Kit, she’ll be pushing that mush at me. What sort of a brother leaves his own flesh and blood to the dealings of such a female!” Master William protested amiably.
“Hold, hold, Billy—if I brought you meat, how the deuce would you slice it with your one bad arm?” offered his lordship grinning.
“Bring me the meat … I’ll find a way.”
“Oh, very well. If you will eat that … perhaps I shall fetch it, and if you are very, very good perhaps I shall even slice it for you,” Myriah offered sweetly.
Myriah suddenly remembered Mr. Dibbs and looked about, asking in a tone of surprise, “Wherever is Mr. Dibbs?”
Kit cast his brother a look of warning and hastened to respond, “He was due back at his destination and thought it best to ride off at once.”
“Right. I know very well that he is from London, and how he could return there on the same steed is beyond me.”
“Damnation, Kit … I told you—too knowing by far.” Billy laughed.
“What—because I knew he was from London? He spoke like one born and bred.”
“And being from London yourself, of course, you recognized that?” asked Kit, putting up a brow in a manner she could not mistake.
“Yes, I’ve spent time in London. Picking up some knowledge of the great city’s dialect is not difficult and does not take much time, my lord.”
“I see,” his lordship said quietly.
“Well, so he is returning to London tonight. How will he manage? His poor horse must be ready to fall …?”
“Dunce!” Billy declared, laughing. “He is using posting house horses, changes ’em at the posting house at Tunbridge Wells.”
“Oh!” Myriah said. “Of course. I had forgotten about that.”
“Well, my Billy, I leave you in the best of capable hands,” his lordship said suddenly.
Myriah turned open eyes on Kit, realizing that was what Fletcher had been mumbling about. They still had business to take care of. Still she asked, “You … you are going out again …?”
“I must. I left some rather unfinished business at the inn. There is no hope for it … I must go back. I shouldn’t be too long and will relieve you here when return.” He touched her hand, and a shiver shot through her arm. She felt him study her, and he laughed suddenly; it was a youthful, joyous sound. Its music thrilled her heart.
Billy’s eyes went from his brother to his nurse, and a slow smile curved his lips.
Myriah eyed him narrowly and asked, “What is so funny?”
“You and m’brother!” he answered, unashamed.
“Horrid puppy!”
“Me horrid?” He shook his head. “Lord keep me … it seems I’m bound to have a she-devil for a sister.”
Kit smiled but said nothing to this.
“Nonsense,” Myriah returned with heightened color
“Said you meant to stay awhile—didn’t know it was going to be a lifetime!”
“Oh, Billy Wimborne … quiet … sister … lifetime … I haven’t a clue what it is you are going on about.”
“Stuff!” he retorted, unabashed.
~ Nine ~
SIR ROLAND FOLDED his greatcoat over the empty wooden chair beside a small corner table. His curly-brimmed top hat and white gloves followed before he took up his seat. It was late, and most of the Mermaid’s patrons had made their way home.
He glanced around the half-empty tavern, idly stroking his chin, which was just beginning to shadow. Strange, thought he, still immersed with his problem, very strange indeed. What would that boy be doing with Myriah’s Silkie—and he was certain it had been Myriah’s horse.
He had never before known her to allow anyone the use of Silkie!
Something was off here … something tickled his mind with an answer, but he couldn’t quite grasp it. An odd boy … with a greatcoat that was extremely too large and too well made for a peasant, and breeches that looked as though they belonged to an older brother.
This and many other questions occupied his busy mind, proposing several fascinating possibilities, and it was not until the uniformed young man standing before him had coughed deprecatingly several times that Sir Roland looked up into the shallow eyes of Corporal Stone.
“Pardon?” said Sir Roland, frowning up at the young man and wondering what he could want with him.
“So sorry to trouble you, sir, but may I sit with you for a moment?” His voice held an urgent note.
Sir Roland’s brow went up, and a haughty look commanded his features. “I am certain you have your reasons for wanting to do so, but I do assure you that while I have no objection to company ordinarily, I must decline your offer as I chose this table for the privacy it affords,” Sir Roland said
The young Corporal Stone looked a bit harried. “To be sure
, sir, I understand. However, if you would but allow me … there is a very good reason for my intrusion.” He took the liberty at this point of pulling up a nearby chair while he cast Sir Roland another anxious glance.
“Very well,” he answered reluctantly, as he had no liking for excisemen; however, his curiosity was beginning to nibble at him.
Stone breathed a sigh of relief and straddled the chair he had appropriated, leaning forward over the chair back and peering intently at Sir Roland’s countenance across the table. “’Tis this, sir—I’m on government business tonight. If you will but cast your eyes in the direction of your left shoulder, you will see a table full of coveys.”
Sir Roland sighed heavily and turned his head slightly in the direction indicated. He shrugged a shoulder and returned a bored countenance to Stone. “Evidently a rough lot … but they appear no more so than any other fishermen I have seen. Really, sir, I fail to see what all this has to do with me.”
“Fishermen? Lord love ya … ’tain’t so … though they would have us think so. Look, it’s not anything to do with you at all. Fact is, I know you are new in Rye! Made it my business to know. That’s why I can trust you with this much. You’ve got no call not to cooperate with me. You see, sir,” Stone explained, lowering his voice and yet managing to convey the portentousness of the information he was about to impart, “those coveys are, I have no doubt whatsoever … smugglers!”
Sir Roland’s brow shot up, and his head went around involuntarily for another look at the alleged tidesmen.
Stone, satisfied that he had impressed the nobleman, grunted in a tone meant to convey his momentary gratification.
Intrigued, Sir Roland’s eyes brightened, and he sat up, now ready to continue the conversation. “Upon my word—never say you are about to make an arrest tonight?”
“Arrest?” young Stone said, opening his eyes wide. “Bless me, no!” His voice took on an inflection of disgust. “Haven’t the proof, you see.”