He took Melody by the hand once more and led her back to the inn, her other hand full of wilting weeds with stems far too short for a vase. It didn’t matter. The flowers had simply been an excuse. He knew when he was being used for a baby minder. At least Melody wasn’t one of the bratty ones that cried all the time.
Her sticky little paw squeezed his as she hummed happily, eager to return to Olive with her prize.
Evan squeezed back. Just a little.
CHAPTER 23
Peace was restored to the inn. Arrangements had been made. It was the right decision, Colin was sure of it.
Except that it was going to look like something completely different. He didn’t like to think what Miss Filby was going to think of it.
Or Melody.
Oh, God. Melody.
His gut roiled at his own chosen path, but he refused to be swayed from it. The morning was passing and he and Hector had miles to make up. There was no time for argument.
Miss Filby sauntered over to where he was going through his valise on the taproom bar, removing only what he might need for a swift day’s journey. He wanted nothing to slow him down.
She looked at him with a smile in her eyes. “I think we can clean the worst of it,” she announced. “Mr. Rugg has gone to the next village for the carpenter. He needs new benches and more tankards from the potter.”
“I know,” Colin replied without looking at her. “I made compensation for the brawl, since I started it.” And then some, but that was between him and Rugg, at least for now.
The smile grew to reach her lips. “That were kind o’ you.”
He shrugged. “I pay my debts.”
“Lord Ardmore disappeared somewhere between sweeping and mopping,” she informed him with her eyes full of vengeful glee. “Assuming he’s headed back to his estate, he’s got a long walk ahead of him.”
Colin grunted. “Good riddance.” He leaned over to pick up the saddlebag he’d found in the stable.
Miss Filby blinked when she saw it. “You’re packin’.” The storm began to gather in those gray eyes. “You’re leaving us?”
That phrase hit home, for both of them. Colin looked away as he shoved the wrapped food into the saddlebag. “I’m only riding ahead to catch up with Chantal. I’ll bring her straight back here when I find her.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” She folded her arms. “Always Chantal. Don’t you ever get sick of yourself?”
He had to look up at that. “Don’t be impertinent!”
“I’m fairly certain I have nothing to lose by it.” She narrowed her eyes. “No one can slow you down, can they? You’re obsessed! You’ll leave behind people who need you, a child who loves you, just to chase that petty alley cat across the countryside!”
He straightened, looming over her. He couldn’t allow anyone to denigrate Melody’s mother, despite his own growing misgivings. “You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head while I’m gone, do you understand me? You are never to repeat that sort of talk around Melody!”
She paled with fury. “Who do you think I am? Some of us think a great deal of children. Some of us stick it out when it gets hard!”
He didn’t back down. “And some of us take action to solve the problem instead of simply flailing about, getting nowhere!”
Her head came up and her stormy eyes flashed lightning. If she had her way, he didn’t doubt he’d be struck dead. “Go on then,” she snarled. “Walk away. Or better yet, run!”
She turned away from him sharply, her skirts whirling. In the breeze of her wake he smelled mint. Damn it! This was a simple journey, hardly more than a quick errand! She insisted on equating it with his actions before . . . well, he’d prove her wrong, that was all there was to it. He’d catch up to Chantal in a matter of hours and return here with her by nightfall.
Whereupon Chantal would clap eyes on Melody and Colin’s masterful plan would succeed. Chantal would marry him, Melody would have her parents and her legitimacy—
And Miss Prudence Filby would go her own way.
There was a hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He would have thought he was hungry if it wasn’t for the fact that his gut was atwist. Hefting his bag of supplies, he crossed the taproom to kneel beside Melody where she played with her rag doll. She was twisting the “arm” of the doll about a large stick. Colin slid his hand over her shining curls. “Does Gordy Ann have a fishing pole?”
“It’s a rolling pin,” Melody informed him. “For rolling heads.”
Dear God, what had he done to this sweet baby? He was right to go on alone. There would be no more involving her in any more suspect activities. He slid his hands under her arms and picked her up. She settled onto his knee without thought, without even stopping her work.
He laid his cheek on her hair, breathing deeply of that sun-kissed baby sweetness. “Mellie?”
“Mm.”
“Mellie, look at me.”
The little round face turned up to his. Big eyes blinked and tiny rosebud mouth pursed expectantly. Little Mellie, always ready to smile.
This wasn’t going to go well. One by one, she was losing everyone. They had all died, or left her, or ridden away. The fact that he was doing this in order to bring her a respectable future wasn’t going to matter to her childish heart. “Mellie, I have to go away for a while. I’m sorry, but I cannot take you with me.”
Gordy Ann dropped to the floor, forgotten. Big eyes became bigger, pools of light blue that seemed to swim with doubt. “No.”
“Yes, Mellie. I’m sorry.” He was so sorry that he almost couldn’t bear it. “I’ll come back as soon as I can.”
“I’ll come, too. And Evan. And Pru.”
“I can’t take you all. I have to get somewhere very fast. If I ride Hector, I can get there right away. If he has to pull the carriage with everyone in it, then we have to go much slower so he won’t hurt himself.”
It was a dirty bit of business, bringing Hector’s welfare into it, but he had to make her understand.
“You wouldn’t want to hurt Hector, would you?”
“No . . .” The pools of blue began to flood. “Don’t go. Stay here. Olive has good ale.”
His throat went tight. “Olive has wonderful ale. I’m coming back soon to have some more. And to kiss you good night and tuck you in.” Desperately he brought out his heaviest weapon. “I’ve got a new story for you. The pirate princess gets married.”
The flood spilled over. Tiny arms twined hard about his neck as she wailed. “Nooooo!”
It hurt to pry those little hands free and to hand her over to Olive, kicking and shrieking. “I’m sorry, Mellie. I’ll be back soon.” Don’t do it. Don’t say it. He couldn’t help it. “I’ll be back in time to tuck you in. I promise.”
He tore himself away and bent to take up his saddlebag. Rugg had saddled Hector and there was no further reason for delay.
Chantal was ahead of him. He’d set out to make her his wife and nothing was going to move him from that path. Not even his own heart.
The inn door closed on the pitiful wails coming from within, but Colin continued to hear them long after he’d put miles behind him.
I’ll be back in time to tuck you in. I promise.
Big Johnny Bailiwick rode his very fine horse down the road, whistling in contentment. Even Balthazar, his horse, seemed unusually content. The huge pointed ears stayed forward and the mile-devouring trot remained steady.
That was odd. “I know why I’m happy,” Bailiwick said out loud. “But since yer a geldin’, I can’t imagine why yer so happy.”
One ear flicked back in a friendly way. Bailiwick regarded it suspiciously. “It ain’t like ye to be so jolly. What’re ye up to, ye great flatulent beastie?”
Balthazar whickered pleasantly and bobbed his head up and down. This was worrisome, indeed.
“No, I ain’t buyin’ it. Ye can put on pretty manners all day if ye like, but ye and I both know what a hell-creature ye really are.”
> If ever a horse laughed, it was then. Bailiwick began to scowl, his bright day clouding. “I’m ready for it, just so’s ye know. No matter what manner o’ trouble ye throw me way, I’ll be ready!”
It was enough to rack a bloke’s nerves, it was! Bailiwick tensed, prepared for anything the changeable beast could throw at him. He stayed that way, waiting for disaster, for the next eight miles.
When he finally arrived at the Ardmore estate, he was exhausted from his vigilance. Dismounting stiffly, he tossed the reins to Ardmore’s groom. “Watch yerself, man. ’E’s a right devil, ’e is.”
The groom looked from Bailiwick to the placid gelding, then back again. “If ye say so.”
Bailiwick watched warily as Balthazar plodded easily behind the groom as he was led away. Out to make him for a fool, damned fiend!
When Pomme’s troupe had told him where Sir Colin was headed, Bailiwick had thought he’d have trouble gaining audience with the elusive Lord Bertram. He was only a footman, after all.
However, it seemed Lord Bertram was starved for any news of this Marchant female, even secondhand yesterday’s news. When Bailiwick was led before his lordship, he found the young man draped across a wing-backed chair in the study, the very picture of melancholy.
Lord Bertram looked up. “Have you seen her? Have you seen my Chantal?”
“No, milord. I’m tryin’ to find Sir Colin, I am. I heard he came this way, lookin’ for Miss Marchant.”
“I sent him on. She took off on the north road with my elder brother.” Lord Bertram’s reddened eyes filled. “I miss her. I want her to come back to me.”
Bailiwick shuffled his feet. He knew a bit about love, he did, after kissing for hours last night with the winning Fiona, but this moping-about business . . . well, it just didn’t seem manly, that’s what!
“I shouldn’t have let her go with Baldwin,” Lord Bertram continued. “He won’t look after her properly. I shouldn’t have . . . let . . . her . . .” It wasn’t quite sobbing. It was more like choking. The sheer dampness of it set Bailiwick’s teeth on edge.
“Fat lot o’ good yer doin’ ’er, then!” he blurted. “What ye need to do is to stop cryin’ into yer lemonade and strap yer balls back on!”
The outburst had the advantage of shocking Lord Bertram out of his sogginess. “How dare you!” Lord Bertram sat up straight. “What is this impertinence?”
“It’s a bit o’ cold, hard truth,” Bailiwick insisted. “What ye been needin’ a fat dose of, by the looks o’ things!” He smacked his riding gloves against his thigh in irritation. “I don’t blame Miss Marchant for lookin’ elsewhere for a man! She sure as ’ell wouldn’t be findin’ one ’ere!”
Lord Bertram rose to his feet, shaking with anger. “I’ll have you sacked, you insolent goon!”
Bailiwick shook his head. “I don’t work for ye. I work for real men, men who know a bit about keepin’ their women happy!”
Bertram blinked at that. “What? What do they know?”
“They know plenty!” Now he was talking out of his arse, but it was too late to stop now. “If a real man wants a woman, he gets off his packet and he goes after her! A real man sets his sights on a likely girl and he doesn’t quit till he’s claimed her!”
It was true, Bailiwick realized. It was how Lord Blankenship got his lady and even how elderly Lord Aldrich got his.
Lord Bertram sniffed again, but this time it was a thoughtful sound, not a mournful one. “Claimed her, eh? I don’t think I ever got around to that . . .”
Bailiwick refrained from rolling his eyes. After all, his lordship was young yet. He’d learn. “That’s the ticket, lad.” The fact that Lord Bertram was older than his own nineteen years escaped him completely.
Bertram looked up, a new light gleaming in his watery blue eyes. “I could do it. I could try to find her and make her accept me!”
“That’s right! Get some courage, man! Go get her if you want her!”
Bertram straightened, tugging his cravat into place. “By God, I will!”
Bailiwick clapped him on the back. “Good luck, milord!” Then he turned to stride manfully out of the house and back to his bloody-minded horse.
It wasn’t until he was nearly a mile down the road that he realized that he had just encouraged Lord Bertram to pursue the very woman that Sir Colin was hell-bent on claiming.
“Oh, hell.”
Balthazar laughed and trotted happily on.
CHAPTER 24
It took the better part of the day to return the inn to a state meeting Olive’s stringent standards. Of course, everything took longer with Melody “helping,” but Olive and Pru simply worked around and through Melody’s messes. There was no mention of Colin and not a word about pirates. No one wanted to spoil Melody’s fragile mood, for Colin’s foolhardy promise to return in time for a bedtime story was the only thing keeping Melody from complete disintegration.
Even Evan was uncommonly kind to her. When Pru took pity on Olive and decided to remove Melody from the inn, it was Evan who suggested a picnic. Olive gratefully packed a basket with bread and cheese and pointed them in the direction of a pleasant meadow where the gooseberries were ripening.
“There’s plenty o’ bushes near the old abbey, and the little one will enjoy a fine day out,” Olive told them.
The ruined abbey was nothing but spires and stone arches standing free in the meadow of wildflowers. Vines crept and twined upward, glossy green in the sunlight. The old stone gleamed white as bone, as if some graceful beast had once chosen this beautiful place to lie down and breathe its last.
Melody ran through the enchanted forest of stone, her little legs pumping high to keep up with Evan’s longer ones. Her tiny hands stretched to the sides to brush the blooms of larkspur and poppy and yellow snapdragon that had naturalized from some garden of decades past.
They found a cozy corner where the sunlight reflected warmly from the pale stone. There was a section of the old structure there, small and sturdy enough to retain its roof. Some sheepherder must have been using it, for there was a ring of firestones and pile of sacking for a bed.
It was a measure of Evan’s pity for Melody that he submitted to playing house. As she watched over them, Pru tried to keep her expression bright and happy, but there was a pall on the lovely day. Someone was missing and they all three felt it.
As they walked back to the inn in the deepening dusk, Pru had the feeling it wouldn’t be the last wonderful moment Colin missed because of Chantal.
A band of men gathered about a fire, a ring of light in the growing dusk. Some tended their weapons, some tended their whisky flasks. A few of them compared stories of their recent run-in with a huge, white fire-breathing horse and the giant who rode him.
Apart from the group, half in shadow, half in flickering firelight, stood a man alone. A dark dangerous man. The form was fine, the face handsome. The eyes, however, held the inward-turned gaze of a man lost in obsession.
A shout came from outside the ring. The circle of men stood instantly, hands on weapons. A sentry appeared, pushing a bound man before him. Without a word, one of the men by the fire slipped into the darkness to take the sentry’s place.
The bound man was shoved to his knees before the shadowy man. Panting, the prisoner lifted his head to look at his captor.
The shadowy man tilted his head as he gazed back. “Hello, Seth. I hardly recognized you with your face beaten to a pulp.” The leader smiled gently. “It’s all the hair that gave it away.”
“Mr. Gaffin, sir—” Seth croaked.
Gaffin shook his head. “Shut it, Seth. And don’t call me ‘sir.’ You aren’t one of my men anymore. You left our life, remember? You went back to your puny village and now you shovel horse apples.”
Seth licked his split lips and spat blood. “That’s right, s—Mr. Gaffin. But I heard you was near. I come because I’ve news for you.”
“What news could you possibly have for me, you worm?” Gaffin’s disgust was
all the more evident by his gentle tone. “Is the world running out of horse piss?”
Rough laughter rumbled through the group until Gaffin held up a hand for silence. “Spit it out, Seth, before I decide to use you for target practice.”
Seth cleared his dry throat. “I got news ’bout that woman ye been lookin’ for, that actress.”
Gaffin straightened. His sudden stillness made him seem even more dangerous. “Chantal,” he breathed.
Seth began to babble. It was pathetic coming from a great hairy brute like him. “She come to the inn with Lord Ardmore but she weren’t there long. She knew me the minute she clapped eyes on me. Took off like a shot, she did. Stole his lordship’s gig and all!”
The chill coming off Gaffin was enough to make the flames falter. “Ardmore said she were runnin’ from Brighton. That’s when I knew she were runnin’ from you.” Seth gulped a harsh swallow of fear and babbled on. “There’s a bloke, a gent, back at Rugg’s inn. He’s on her trail, he’s lookin’ for her, too. Wants her bad, he does. Beat the hell out of his lordship just to find out where she were headed!”
Gaffin narrowed his eyes. “Did he now?” He lifted his chin sharply. Without a word his men began to dismantle the camp and saddle their horses.
Gaffin walked to the fire and gazed into the flames. All around him, efficient flurry made the camp disappear in minutes. Gaffin didn’t move, didn’t bark orders, didn’t even look at his men.
His gaze was somewhere else, some when else. “No one touches Chantal,” he whispered to the flames. “No one but me.”
Colin was still riding. The sliver of moon gave enough light to easily see the pale chalk road before him and he didn’t want to stop just yet. It was after dark and he hadn’t made nearly as much progress as he’d expected.
His journey had been slow because he hadn’t dared pass up any opportunity to stop and confirm Chantal’s path. A few people thought they might remember a pretty woman driving a sleek curricle, but it was not enough to reassure Colin.
If the little information he’d come across was correct, Chantal was a full day ahead at least. Possibly two. It was surprising progress. Miss Filby was right. Chantal was not as helpless as he used to think.
Rogue in My Arms: The Runaway Brides Page 17