by Karen Ranney
Hannah. Strange that he’d never met her in all this time.
The older woman continued to study him. Almost as if to reassure herself he was real.
“I would not choose to be clubbed by any one but you, dearest Hannah,” Richard said, bowing over her hand. Stephen raised an eyebrow at the courtliness of his friend’s gesture. An intriguing woman, he thought, as they exchanged looks. But her enmity to him was difficult to understand.
She did, however, allow Richard to assist her in mounting her horse. As she did so, he looked over at Anne.
“I think your friend dislikes me.”
“She doesn’t dislike you, Stephen,” she said calmly. “She simply does not trust you.”
“Why?”
“First because you’re male,” she said with a smile. “Secondly, because your name is Stephen.”
“Would I be more favorably received if I were named Harold, then?”
“Yes,” she said surprisingly, and laughed.
It was all the answer he was going to get from her. He knew that. Even if it made no sense.
His hand reached out and cupped her chin, feeling the sharp line of jaw, the softness of her skin. His fingers spread out and touched her throat. Her hands gripped his wrist.
Then she startled him again by reaching out and kissing the back of his hand, bringing it to her lips in a gesture of supplicant or worshiper. His knuck les were warmed by tender lips. The shadow of her lashes on her cheeks completed the picture and stole his breath from him.
“Anne.”
“I despise being afraid,” she said. “A Sinclair is not supposed to be a coward.”
“I’ve soldiers who are not as intrepid as you.” His smile was sudden, amused, and real. “How are you a coward?”
Her look was direct, allowing for no guile or restraint. “I thought you were going to do something stupid and noble.”
“You are not the type to weep into your handkerchief are you, Anne?”
“Because you let the Parliamentarians have you? No,” she said, as if she considered the answer. “I’m afraid I would be more like Hannah and wish to club you.”
It was not the time for laughter, he thought, but he was grateful to her for it.
Chapter 25
“If you will just roll with the gait of the horse, Hannah,” Richard said, “it would be much easier for you. Just roll with it.” He made an exaggerated movement of hunching his shoulders, bringing them forward, then arching back. A demonstration of what he wished her to do.
“I do not roll, Richard,” she said, her tone one of ice.
She would have liked to think that the journey back to Dunniwerth was being made slower these past days because of the number of cavalry that accompanied them. But in truth she was not up to a canter. She had been quite brave in even mounting one of the beasts again. Even so, a slow walk made her ribs ache, a fact that she’d managed to hide from the others. Richard, however, had an uncanny ability to see through her determined cheer. Even now he was looking at her as if judging the extent of her discomfort. Silly man.
“Truly, Hannah, your look would singe my eyebrows off. Expend the same amount of ire on your horse, and you’d have him tamed in no time. As it is, you will probably bounce all the way to Scotland like that. You look like a mushroom bobbing up and down.”
“Dare I ask what part of the mushroom I resemble?”
“Why, the entirety of it, of course,” he said. “The way your hair shoots straight up in the sky and back again is the top, and your skinny legs are the stem.”
If she’d had a musket, she would have shot him.
“My legs are not skinny. Besides, you are not to look. My skirts are perfectly proper.”
“It is true your legs are not skinny, Hannah. But your gait is better. You’ve settled in quite nicely.” With that, he tipped his hat and made his way to the head of the troop.
“I hate that man. May God forgive me, I hate that man.”
“He, on the other hand, mistress, is exceptionally complimentary of you.”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye. The earl rode close to her. He was dressed as soberly as any Puritan. The twinkle in his eye, however, did not belong with the plain clothing.
She had spoken few words to him over the last three days, but she had watched him carefully. His men appeared to hold him in great respect. He commanded with ease and with fairness. Added to that the fact that Betty had a great fondness for him, Muriel an adoration, and even Richard praised him. A man of great charm.
To be fair, he had, for the last few days, been unfailingly polite to her. Before he had ever met her, he’d provided for her comfort, her care, opened up his home for strangers. A man of great nobility.
A man without a home, who no doubt had a price on his head at this moment. A man who, from the talk she’d overheard, had angered a king.
A dangerous man.
It was all too obvious that Anne adored him. They thought they had been so circumspect. A fool could have intercepted the looks between them. The problem, as she saw it, was that there was no clear resolution. He had never talked of the future. Nor had Anne.
Why had she herself fallen in love with a man she should not have? Why did she look now at a man with red cheeks and bright white hair and feel a warmth around her heart? Perhaps because it was meant to be.
“What does he say about me?” she asked. Her words were a capitulation, even if the man at her side was unaware of it. Her gaze was on Richard, who was riding far ahead of them. He was chatting quite amiably with one of the soldiers. That was the problem with Richard, however. He appeared quite friendly just before he let loose a verbal dart.
“He says you have lovely skin and the most delightful shade of hair. He put me in mind of a Cavalier poet, mistress. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Richard has a great deal of the courtier about him.”
“Have you known him long?” A part of her, a more fair and equitable part, chided her for asking Richard about Stephen and Stephen about Richard. However, the first inquiry had been for Anne. These questions were strictly of a personal nature. For her benefit alone. It would aid her to know the character of the man who so bedeviled her day after day. And made her smile so often.
“Most of my life,” he said. “My mother named him my godfather, a role for which he was unprepared. Not because of his aptitude for it,” he said, smiling, “but my father’s antipathy to him. He thought that physicians and earls had nothing in common, let alone the rearing of his son.”
“Do you?” He glanced at her. “Think that physicians and earls have anything in common?” she explained.
He grinned at her. “More than my father would have imagined.” His gaze rested on Richard, and his grin faded to a fond smile. “He is a fine man,” he said.
“He says the same of you,” she said.
“Perhaps we should gather in a group and exchange such pleasantries,” Stephen said, smiling. “It might save a good deal of time.”
“I confess to not being the type for idle chatter,” she said.
His sidelong glance was filled with amusement.
“You sound like Richard when you say that,” he said. “I have noted that your temperament seems similar.”
She frowned at him. “He says I remind him of a she-goat.”
His laughter surprised her and made Richard turn from the head of the troop where he rode and send an inquiring smile in her direction. She simply turned her head and looked away. Silly man.
When they rested for the evening, Richard came to her.
“Will you walk with me, Hannah?”
She was weary enough not to grumble at him. She walked beside him in the faint light. The Scots called it the gloaming. A sweet word for a lonely time of day. They sat beside a stream. The air was warm with a hint of summer. New leaves were uncurling on the tips of branches. From somewhere came the cry of a bird, a melody joined in and repeated loudly. In front of them was the beginning of hills, b
ut even those were touched with a mantle of green.
“My home is a comfortable place,” Richard said. He frowned down at the stream before him. “Even though there has not been a mistress present in seven years, it has had the touch of a housekeeper. I’ve found that women know better about the arrangement of furniture and things.”
She slanted a look up at Richard, who stood beside her, his hands clasped together behind his back. He had a habit, she’d noticed, of rocking on his heels. She wondered if it was because he’d been aboard ship all those years.
“Do you miss it?” she asked suddenly, interrupting his speech.
He blinked at her.
“Miss the sea,” she explained.
“I was sick for a good two weeks at the start of every voyage. Why would I miss it?” He tone was irritated, his look decidedly so. She shrugged and went back to her survey of the countryside.
“I’ve a good profession,” he continued, “even though I practice it less and less these days. I’m a wealthy man. Did I tell you that story?”
“Many times,” she said dryly. “I’ve no wish to hear it again. You are to be congratulated for your tenacity and the earl for indulging you in your dreams.”
“It was hardly that,” he said. “The silver added to his wealth, also.”
“What do you think he feels for her?”
“For who?” Once more, she had the decided feeling that she was goading his temper. Since Richard had done the same to her on more than one occasion, she didn’t feel dismayed by it in the least. “Sometimes he looks at her in a certain way,” she said, “and I wonder if he feels something for her. Then his face becomes blank, and he looks away.”
“He’s a very private man,” Richard said. “One can surmise all sorts of things from his silence. Pride,” he continued, with a sharp look at her, “is a very delicate thing in a man.”
“Too delicate,” she said. “More damage has been done to the world because of men’s pride than any single reason.”
“And women are not to blame?”
“We mop up the mess, Richard, and tend to the wounds and care for the sick and bear the children. We do not cause the problems.”
He raised his eyebrow at her. “Then we should not call you women,” he said, “but rather angels. And count ourselves lucky that you consort with us mortal men at all.”
“It is a sacrifice,” she said with a smile.
He frowned at her. “My needs are modest, but my income is more than enough to provide for extravagant tastes. I have invested some of the money from the ship and set aside some for my children in the event of my death. But there remains a goodly amount to fritter away if I’ve a mind to do such a thing. I’ve thought of adding on a room for flowers and plants to my house.” He looked over at her. “Women like such things, don’t they?”
She only raised one eyebrow.
“I could do with some expansion, perhaps. Build another wing. Or a better dining room, so that guests might be more comfortable. More gardens, too. I know nothing about gardens.”
“Is there a reason for this determined litany, Richard?”
He didn’t answer her, simply continued to talk. “My daughter is a lovely girl,” he said. “I expect to be made a grandfather shortly. But they live some distance from my house. I do not see them often. Her husband is a prosperous man. A Parliamentarian, like myself.” He looked over at her, as if his political leanings had anything to do with her.
“I believe that I will be safe enough in the coming years. My belief is that the king will lose this war. Do you have some softening in your heart for the Royalists?”
She huffed out a breath. “Richard, I have spent the greater part of my life on an island. I do not care what either side does or does not do. I tend to my animals and my herb garden, and attempt to bring health to those who come to me for aid.”
“And have odd ideas about some perfectly acceptable practices,” he said.
She was formulating her arguments when she glanced up and noted his smile. It silenced her.
“My son is, I am sorry to say, one of the great disappointments of my life. He has taken himself off to France, and the only missives I ever receive from him are requests for money.” He frowned at the stream in front of them as if it were an affront. She suspected, however, that it was his son Richard saw and not the sparkling water.
“The problem with Harold is that he whines,” Richard said. “It’s an affectation. It’s a grating, nasally thing. I find myself disliking the boy almost constantly, even to the extent that I bless providence that he’s chosen to live in another country. He is rarely underfoot, but when he is, he’s as welcome as a blister on my…” He looked over at her, then away again. “I am sorry, Hannah. I have a deplorable habit of returning to the conversations of my youth. Aboard ship there is apt to be little gentility.”
“On an island,” she said wryly, “there is none. I can say whatever I wish, with only the squirrels and the birds to hear me.”
“You are a truly unique woman, Hannah.”
She felt her cheeks warm.
He smiled at her, a toothy grin. He was a rather formidable-looking man, what with his shock of white hair and his bushy eyebrows of the same color. His teeth were good. A comment he made next, as if he divined her very thoughts.
“I’m in good health, my teeth are sound, my habits not unduly rude. I’ve a staff of ten to keep me pressed and combed.” He looked over at her again. “Not that I need all of them to do so,” he explained. “They mostly clean. And cook,” he said. “I do have a cook. She sometimes makes too rich a sauce, but that is not often. Only when boredom sets in. Not that life at my home is excessively boring. It is of a calm and placid nature.”
She knew better than to try to interrupt this charming bit of boasting.
“I’ve a sister. She is a sweet woman, but she lives by herself. A cousin resides with her, and they are no burden. They come and stay with me at Christmas time, however. I think it’s important to share the holidays with family, don’t you?”
She didn’t get a chance to answer.
“I will confess to having few friends. My profession took me away from my home for years. When I returned, it was to find my children near grown. But these past years have been turbulent ones. Stephen is a friend, although I doubt I’ll see much of him in the future. I’ve one or two others, but not of his rank.”
He braced his shoulders. “I am told I snore, and I’ve a lamentable habit of swearing, but only occasionally.”
“Is there a point to all of this, Richard?”
He turned and blinked at her. He looked, she thought, rather like an endearing hedgehog at the precise second before it rolls into a protective ball. Eyes wide in terror, blinking at the world, and twitching its nose in alarm.
She stood, walked to him, and laid her hand on his arm.
“I forgive you all your faults, all dutifully enumerated. Whatever you feel you’ve done or said to me to induce such a lengthy confession, I hereby forgive you. I am tired now and would like to seek my bed, even if it is only a mattress of moss.”
“Do you want to return to your island, Hannah?” Richard asked suddenly. “Is there anything there for you?” His hand gripped hers, turned her so that she faced him fully. “Do you want to live the rest of your life in isolation? You could, instead, spend it with me.”
“Is that what this has been? A proposal?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Or do you wish another arrangement simply because of what I’ve told you about Anne?”
He stepped away from her, offended. “Good grief, woman. I confess to having some interest in you in that way, but only after exchanging vows.”
It was her turn to blink at him.
“You might have said something,” she murmured. “Instead of insulting me all this time.” The idea of Richard lusting after her was a fascinating one to consider. She tilted her head and considered him. He met her stare.
“I knew you
were worried about Anne. Wished to see her safely home. Tomorrow we’ll make the border, and Stephen is releasing those men with families to return to England.”
“You wish me to go with you?”
He leaned close, so close that he was a blur. “What in hell do you think I’ve been doing for the past thirty minutes?” The words were enunciated clearly, each one of them having a bite.
“I didn’t need to hear a list of your assets, you silly man,” she said, reaching up and grabbing his ears. They were quite large, a point she should insist that he enumerate in his list of flaws. “All you needed to do was kiss me,” she said, and proceeded to do just that.
Chapter 26
They rested at noon the next day, the site a curve of meadow beside a stream. Stephen dismounted, held out his arms for Anne. She braced her hands on his shoulders as he spanned her waist and set her down on the dirt road. Next to them, Richard was doing the same for Hannah, the constant bickering between them a source of welcome amusement.
It was obvious that they both enjoyed the sparring.
Stephen extended his arm, and Anne placed her hand on it, not unlike any man and woman out for a leisurely country stroll. Except that the air was thick with dust kicked up by the horses, and the noise created by thirty men dispelled the sense of peace.
Here the earth was fertile, the growth green and lush. Red sandstone peeked from gashes in the land. Rounded hills, shrouded in a pale gray-green mist, were mirrored in small silver lakes. In the distance there was the hint of mountains and gray skies covering snow-capped peaks, as if the earth was shedding itself of its polite drapery and becoming sullen and stark and wild.
It was neither Stephen’s map nor the terrain that declared them in Scotland, but rather the gap-toothed smile of a man who spoke in Gaelic. Anne conversed with him for a while, wished him a good day, and turned and walked back to where the others were waiting.