Unlacing the Innocent Miss

by Margaret McPhee

  ‘Fool,’ he muttered to himself. Why was he allowing the woman to affect him like this? He should teach Rosalind Meadowfield a lesson, he thought savagely; he should pull up her skirts and ease his hard swollen flesh into hers. Maybe then this torment would end. He swallowed hard, his body reacting to just the thought.

  He knew as soon as he saw Campbell that something was wrong.

  ‘Where is she?’ he asked, guiding his horse right up to his friend.

  ‘She’s gone, Wolf.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean?’

  ‘Just that. I nipped behind a hedge to have a quick pee, left her with the horses, and when I came back she was gone.’

  There was silence.

  Wolf felt the pulse begin to hammer in his neck. ‘You let her go, didn’t you?’

  Campbell said nothing.

  ‘Didn’t you?’ demanded Wolf, staring at Campbell with undisguised fury. ‘The same as you left the strap ping for my saddlebags loose. You planned this whole damn thing.’

  ‘It’s for your own good, Wolf.’

  ‘My own good?’ His voice was harsh with incredulity. ‘She’s worth a bloody mint.’

  ‘A hundred guineas, and were it two hundred I’d still do the same. Your life’s worth more than that. Besides, you dinnae need the money.’

  ‘Have you run mad?’

  ‘I should have done it sooner. Look at the state she has you in; she’s all that you can think of night and day. You burn for her, yet you’ll no’ just have her and be done with it. She’s under your skin, inside your head. This craving for her is tearing you apart. She’s no’ of our world, Wolf. She’s one of them: a gentle woman, a bloody ladies’ companion. She’s trouble, Wolf, that’s what she is.’

  ‘She’s just a job like all the others. A capture. All I’m doing is delivering her to Evedon.’

  ‘Stop lying to yourself, man!’ Campbell shouted. ‘I’m no’ blind; I see how you look at her, however much you deny it. I see what she’s doing to you.’

  ‘She’s doing nothing.’

  ‘Do you deny that you want her?’

  ‘Aye, I want her,’ snapped Wolf. ‘But it does not mean I’ll take her. I’m not ruled by what’s beneath my breeches.’

  ‘Listen to yourself. You want her, and yet she’s everything that you shun. She’s of the gentry, Wolf, and nothing you do is gonnae change that. And you cannae change your past no matter how much you will it.’

  Wolf’s brows lowered, his expression became hard and deadly. ‘Were it anyone else saying that…’

  ‘I’d be dead,’ finished Campbell. ‘You’ve been like a brother to me. You saved my life so I’ll no’ let you destroy yourself over a bloody woman. Hard nosed bastard or no’, I still care about you.’

  There was a small silence. Wolf placed his hand upon Campbell’s shoulder.

  ‘I know you do, Struan, and that’s why you’re going to tell me exactly where she went.’

  Campbell sighed and shook his head. ‘Wolf…’

  ‘I cannot let her go, not like this. She’ll not survive out there alone; you know she’ll not.’

  Campbell massaged his fingers against his temples.

  ‘Please, Struan.’

  ‘I’m as much a bloody fool as you,’ said Campbell. ‘Come on, I’ll show you. But if she’s reached the woodland then I dinnae think that we’ll find her.’

  ‘We’ll find her,’ said Wolf grimly. ‘We have to.’

  Rosalind had almost reached the beginning of the woodland when she saw the two riders in the distance. She knew without seeing, the identity of the horsemen: Wolf and Campbell. The grey horse was spurring on in the lead, its rider dressed in a long dark brown overcoat. And it seemed she could see across the vastness of the field to the man’s lean hard face, a face without a single line of softness in it anywhere and yet burned upon her mind for all eternity, so that she could imagine the steady focus of those silver eyes, and the utter determination that they held.

  ‘Wolf,’ she whispered.

  And it seemed that he heard her for he seemed to look directly at her. He pointed in her direction.

  Time stilled. She knew that he was coming. She whirled and ran the distance to the trees.

  She continued running, dodging a path through the woodland, unmindful of her wet stockings or the worn soles of her boots through which the ground seemed to tear at the remnants of her blisters. The rain pattered on to the pale green canopy above, dripping through the leaves to wet her as she ran. It was raining in earnest now, so that the soil beneath her feet was growing softer and deep dark brown in colour. And the air was filled with the scent of rain and the dampness of earth. Her ankle turned on an exposed tree root sending her sprawling down, but she scrambled up at once and kept on running. Running and running, until her lungs were burning for air and no matter how hard, how heavy, how fast she breathed, there was not enough air to fill them. Her side was aching with a stitch and the soles of her feet were burning as if on fire. But none of it mattered. Rosalind forced herself on, knowing that this was her last chance. Knowing that, after this, she dare not face Wolf again.

  The birds were not singing. There was no sound save for the rhythmic pelt of the rain. For all that sunset was far off, the light had dulled so that the woods seemed chilled and sombre, all of the lively colour of spring washed a dismal grey by the rain. Once she thought she heard Wolf coming through the woods behind her, but it was hard to hear over the loud ragged pant of her breathing; but when she held her breath and tried to listen, the sound was gone. She kept on running until she could run no more.

  It was the river that stopped her; a river flowing fast and broad and deep across her path. The water was grey, frothed with white where it gushed and dropped over rocks, none of which were of any use as stepping stones. Rosalind’s gaze scanned frantically, seeking a way across, but there was none. Over to the left was a great slope of soil, sheer in its increment but with bushes and trees growing upon its slope. She could see it was flat at the top. River or slope, she thought grimly, not much of a choice. But as she could not swim nor did she have a change of clothing with her, the choice was already made. She hurried to the bottom of the slope and began to climb.

  She used the bushes and woody tree roots to pull herself slowly up the sheer incline, taking her time to gingerly test the strength of each root before leaning the whole of her weight upon it. The sweat was trick ling down her back, prick ling beneath her arms, but still she kept on climbing—glancing frequently down to check that Wolf had not yet caught up with her—until the river below looked very far away and she felt a sense of nausea so that she did not look down again.

  There was not so very much further to climb, one more yard to the top. And for all that her muscles were aching and burning and crying for relief, she knew that she could keep going for that little distance. She reached for the last branch, ready to pull herself to safety, feeling the dampness and solidity of the wood beneath her fingers as her hand closed around it. One quick glance down below. No one. Thank God, she thought, and heaved herself towards the top. There was an almighty crack as the branch fractured into two. She started to slide back down the slope. A single piercing scream rent the air and Rosalind did not realize it was herself who made the sound.

  Her hand flailed wildly, clawing until it fastened upon the thin wiry branches of a scrubby bush and she grabbed at the leaves. everything stopped. The silence echoed amidst the hush of rain. She hung there, secured by only the grip of a single hand, swaying in the lilt of the wind. Cau tiously, she probed with her feet, seeking something, anything on which to find purchase, scared to move too much lest she loosen her grip. But there was nothing to be found. She shifted her weight, inch by tiny inch, until she could reach up with her other hand and anchor it too to the bush. There was nothing else within reach between her and the top of the incline, nothing else upon which she might climb. No way up, and only the land so far away below.

  Rosalind’s arms trembled al
ready with the strain and she knew that she would not be able to hold on for much longer. She was going to die, but she was not panicking, not as she panicked about horses and everything else of which she was afraid. Indeed, she was strangely calm. And she realized as she hung there that she had spent most of her life afraid. So much fear, and for what? Death was coming just the same, and in that thought was a peculiar freedom so that she thought again of Wolf: Wolf with his strength and his anger, all fearless and confrontational and passionate, the very antithesis of herself, and underneath it all, hurting just the same.

  She was running from him, just as she had run from everything in her life. Running away when she wanted to run towards. She could already feel her grip beginning to weaken. Soon the thin wiry branches of the bush would slip right through her hands, and she would fall back down below. Below, where the river rushed so fast. Below, where Wolf would find her. And a pain seared in her heart for what might have been, for realizations come too late. The branch began to slip beneath her fingers.

  ‘Hold on, Miss Meadowfield!’ she heard him shout, and when she looked up to the top of the slope there was Wolf.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Wolf saw Rosalind clinging so precariously to the sheer face, and his heart seemed to still in his chest at the shock of seeing her in such danger. A whisper from death, he thought, and then thought no more.

  ‘Look up at me, only at me,’ he shouted. ‘Hold on.’

  Her face was stark white. ‘Wolf,’ she whispered. Her eyes never left his face.

  His gaze shifted to where her hands still gripped the bush with bloodless fingers, and he saw the strain in them and how easily her fingers would slip as the branch became wetter, and he knew that he must act right now if he was to save her. He pulled the rope from within his greatcoat before strip ping off his coat and jacket. One end of the rope he secured to the closest tree, the other he tied around his waist.

  ‘Please hurry,’ she cried, and he could see the infinitesimal movement of the branches through her fingers.

  ‘Hold on, Rosalind, just a few seconds more.’ He spoke calmly, trying to allay her panic, as he backed off solid ground on to the slope. He half climbed, half slid down the sheer face, striving to reach her as quickly as possible. He could hear her laboured breathing, hear the tumble of pebbles and soil cascading down, rolling to land too far below. And the thought that Rosalind Meadowfield might follow them was unbearable so that, for the first time since he was a child, he prayed.

  Dear God, save her, he willed. Take me in her stead, and save her. Please.

  He heard her sudden gasp of air. He heard her body begin to slide. ‘Wolf!’

  And he was there, catching her in his arms, pulling her tight against his body, holding her secure.

  ‘Rosalind, I have you.’

  She clung to him, burying her face against his chest.

  A heart beat, and then another.

  ‘Wrap your arms around my neck and your legs around my body. I’ll get us out of here.’ Heaven only knew how much he did not want to let her go, not for one second, but he knew what he had to do.

  She did as he instructed, holding tight to him.

  Wolf focused, shutting every sensation out, single-minded, determined, ruthless. He climbed up the rope with his most precious cargo, and only when they were both safe, away from the precipice, did he release her long enough to unfasten the rope.

  She stood before him, exactly where he left her, not moving, not shifting her gaze from his.

  ‘I thought…I thought that I would…’

  ‘I know,’ he said, and pulled her back into his arms. ‘I know,’ he said again and stroked the strands of loose hair back from her face. ‘But you are safe now.’

  She nodded and closed her eyes against him. ‘I had to run,’ she whispered, ‘I had to try. You understand, do you not?’

  ‘I understand.’ He rubbed a hand against her back. And God help him, but he did. She must really believe that Evedon would hang her, if she was willing to risk her life like this to flee him.

  ‘Evedon will not hang you. I was telling the truth when I said that he is most adamant in wanting the whole affair hushed up.’

  She glanced away towards the slope’s edge, staring at it as if it held her mesmerized.

  ‘Rosalind,’ he said softly, trying to turn her from it.

  She looked up at him then, her face pale, her eyes a dark mossy brown and shimmering with unshed tears. ‘I have not told you the truth of this matter and neither has Lord Evedon.’ She paused, taking a deep shaky breath.

  ‘It is of no consequence right now; let us speak of it later when you are recovered.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head and her hair, all loose and flowing from their chase, swept against her face. ‘I need to tell you, Wolf. I want you to know.’

  He nodded, feeling his chest tighten, and waited.

  ‘I am a thief. I did steal from Evedon, not the dowager’s jewels but…something else, something of which he does not wish the world to know. He believes me guilty of both crimes, but I swear to you, I took neither the diamonds nor the emeralds.’ She glanced away and bit at her lip. ‘I did not know whether you knew of the…’ she hesitated ‘…of the other item.’

  ‘Evedon employed me to bring you back for jewel theft, nothing else.’

  Her eyes met his once again. Such dark troubled eyes, filled with sincerity and with pain.

  ‘What did you steal?’ he asked as gently as he could.

  She bit her lip again, harder this time, so that he saw the tiny trickle of blood. ‘A letter. I did not mean to take it…but there seemed no other option.’ She swallowed and stared up into his eyes. ‘Please do not ask me,’ she said softly. ‘For all that Lord Evedon thinks, I will not betray him. Not for his sake, but for the sake of another. I know his secret. I have the proof, and because of that, he will kill me.’

  And this time when she said the words, he believed her.

  ‘Wolf,’ and in that one word was both relief and fear. ‘What am I going to do?’

  He could feel the tremble that raged through her body.

  ‘I’ll not let him hurt you; I’ll not let anyone hurt you.’ He pulled her to him, holding her as if he would protect her from the world, and dropped a single kiss to the top of her head.

  And she believed him. For the first time in such a long time, she felt truly safe. He was strong and invincible, nothing could overcome Wolf she thought, as he wrapped his arms around her and just held her. Beneath the press of her cheek to his chest, she could feel the strong steady beat of his heart. A man of iron, so ruthless, so hard, and yet beneath, such gentleness; a man that fought for what he believed in, a man in whom she could trust.

  Deep inside, an overwhelming tenderness for him welled up and over flowed, so that the tears spilled down her cheeks and she began to weep for everything that he was and everything that she was and all that could not be. Wolf held her and stroked her and whispered that he would keep her safe, until all her tears were cried and she rested against him spent and empty. He wrapped his greatcoat around her and gathered her up into his arms as if she were a child. And she let him carry her through the trees and the teeming rain. There would be no more running. It was time to stop hiding from the truth.

  They rode through the grey sheet of rain, Wolf careful to keep his horse at a slow steady pace for the sake of Rosalind who was riding pillion before him. She sat quiet and exhausted; the trauma of her ordeal seemed to have sapped all of her energy. After an hour of riding, he felt her relax against him, her head lolling into him as she dozed.

  ‘Well?’ said Campbell at last. ‘Are you still gonnae tell me that she’s just a capture?’ He looked point edly down at where Rosalind was sleeping in Wolf’s arms.

  ‘It’s more complicated than you think,’ said Wolf.

  ‘Aye, I think I can see exactly what kind of complicated it is.’

  Wolf drew him a look.

  Campbell stared back unrepe
ntant. ‘Are we still taking her to Evedon?’

  Wolf deliberately avoided the question. ‘She says that she did not steal the jewels.’

  ‘She’s been saying that all along.’

  Wolf glanced down at the where Rosalind lay against him. ‘And maybe she’s been telling the truth all along.’

  ‘Maybe.’ He could hear the cynicism in Campbell’s voice.

  ‘She says she stole a letter be longing to Evedon, and it’s the letter that he’s after, rather than the jewels.’

  ‘Does it make any difference? She’s still a thief.’

  ‘Aye, it makes a difference. Evedon lied to us. Maybe there never was a jewel theft. This whole thing could have been about the letter all along.’

  Campbell looked away, rubbed at the back of his neck and when he looked round again, his expression was grim. ‘What kind of a letter?’

  ‘One worth a hundred of Evedon’s guineas,’ said Wolf.

  ‘And does she still have this letter?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Easy enough to check,’ said Campbell and looked at him meaningfully.

  Wolf gave no reply. He knew what Campbell was suggesting. Searching Rosalind would be no hardship. A vision of her naked flashed in his mind. He closed his eyes to dispel the image.

  ‘If she has the letter, then Evedon’s strange insistence that we search neither Miss Meadowfield nor her baggage makes sense.’

  ‘As I said before, maybe he wants an excuse to do the searching himself,’ said Campbell. ‘Maybe there’s more between Evedon and the woman right enough, just as Kempster said.’

  ‘Kempster’s a damned liar.’

  ‘Maybe he didnae lie about everything.’