Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown

by Patricia Veryan

  She gave a squeak of fright as she rounded a sharp curve and a horseman charged from a stand of birches beside the road.

  Lowering his levelled pistol, Redmond gasped, "You! Good God! I thought—"

  "Thank heaven," Charity babbled. "I was afraid I had quite lost you!"

  He restored the pistol to his saddle holster, glanced northwards and asked, "Where are the others? Is my brother all right, do you know?"

  "I don't! I dare not think—" She broke off, biting her lip and trying not to cry. "Justin threw me onto this horse and sent me after you. Another longboat was coming ashore and many men. I am so afraid…" Her voice shredded into silence.

  Redmond said harshly, "Nonsense. They'll do their possible. They're a damned fine bunch. Just now, ma'am, I am going to have to ride like fury. Keep up if you can, but when we come into Dumfries I must leave you and head south very fast, if I'm to have any chance of reaching the Pavilion by Wednesday evening."

  So he doubted her ability to keep up. It was true that she was not used to lengthy rides, but her health was vastly improved these days. She just might surprise the gentleman! And so, when he spurred, she spurred also. Redmond rode a big grey gelding; her own mount had an untiring stride that ate up the miles steadily. But their way led through country that became increasingly hilly, and often Redmond had to slow to rest the horses.

  Five hours later, Charity was aching with fatigue and parched with thirst. But she knew that Redmond often glanced back the way they had come, and she resolved to fall dead from the saddle before she would beg him to stop.

  The wind was colder and the clouds darkening when he turned into the yard of a croft nestled in a small valley. He dismounted with easy grace and no sign of weariness, but when he reached to lift Charity down, she stared at him blankly for a moment, doubting her ability to move.

  One dark brow lifted, the side of his mouth twisting into a faint sneer that inflamed her. She slipped from the saddle. He caught her waist, which was fortuitous, for her legs were numbed, and she tottered for an instant.

  He murmured, "I'm sorry, Miss Strand. This must be very taxing for you."

  "I shall… manage," she gasped defiantly, but Mitchell's steady gaze caused her to be oddly flustered. She stepped back and remembering, took out her handkerchief, unwrapped Claude's ruby ring and thrust it at him. "Here, take this horrid thing."

  He stared down at the great ruby, then put it into his waistcoat pocket as the door of the small house opened.

  The crofter came out to them. "Is it food or fresh horses ye'll be after, sir?" he asked in a thick Scots accent." I can gie ye the vittles. But ye'll need tae ride tae McDougall's fer hacks."

  A scrawny woman, wiping red, work-roughened hands on an immaculate apron, came to the door. " Tis only a wee way, sir," she said with a friendly smile. "If ye'd prefair it, ma mon can gae fer ye, while ye set and eat. I've some pork pie ye're welcome tae."

  "Splendid." Redmond handed the reins to the crofter. "Will you be so very good as to take care of these animals until they're sent for? And get me the best mounts you can hire from your neighbour. My sister and I are summoned to Carlisle. Our father lies dangerously ill there." He discussed the arrangements briefly, pressed a guinea into the man's hand and was rewarded by a delighted grin. "Now, ma'am," he said, turning to the farm wife, "If we may impose on you?"

  She bobbed a curtsey and ushered them through a tiny over furnished parlour and into a wide kitchen, fragrant and cosy, with a fine fire leaping on the hearth, and a small table before it.

  Twenty minutes later, washed, fed, and refreshed, they went outside to find two likely-looking mounts already waiting. Redmond paid the costs from the fat purse Harry had thrust into his hand only seconds before Sanguinet's appearance. He turned to boost Charity into the saddle, only to hesitate and remark frowningly that she could not continue without a proper sidesaddle. "You had best stay here until—"

  Charity was already very unpleasantly aware of the long and awkward ride this morning, but she said a dauntless, "No! Help me up, if you please. I'll ride astride."

  "Astride!" His gaze flickered over her habit. "In that?"

  "It will serve," she said confidently, while praying the skirt would not split when she mounted.

  He scowled. "Of all the ridiculous—"

  "We waste time, brother dear," she reminded sweetly.

  Redmond gave her a level look and bent to receive her boot, which he thought absurdly small, and tossed her up into the saddle.

  Before her accident, Charity had been something of a tomboy, and this was not her first experience at riding astride, so that her mount was not as gruesome as Redmond had anticipated. However, although Yolande's habit was sturdily made, it had not been intended for such a reach and it slid above Charity's ankles revealingly as she settled into the saddle.

  The crofter and his wife stared, patently astonished. Redmond slanted an embarrassed glance at them. "Women!" he muttered, and strode to his own mount.

  Watching them ride out, the crofter said dubiously, "I'll allow 'tis warranted. Under the caircumstances. Their pa dyin', ye ken."

  "Aye." His wife nudged him in the ribs. "If 'tis Carlisle they're bound fer in sic a tearing rush. They didna look much like kinfolk tae me. Him sae bonny and dark, and her sae fair.''

  "Whist! They didna act like lovers, neither. Scarce a worrud 'twixt 'em the entire time."

  "Much ye know o' lovers!" she scoffed, then squealed as he chased her into the house.

  Redmond set a steady pace that afternoon, so that Charity soon began to chafe at their rate of progress and wonder if it was out of concern for her that they travelled so slowly. She glanced at him, preparing to broach the subject, but he had not spoken for the past hour and his face was set in such grim lines that she decided to say nothing. After another hour, their route followed what was little more than an uphill footpath, becoming ever more steep. When they reached the summit, Redmond looked back, and Charity turned also. Green hills and gently sloping valleys spread as far as she could see, but still there was no sign of riders, and her heart sank. Surely, if all had gone well, Justin and Tris and Devenish would have come after her. Surely, at least they would have come… unless… She thrust such dark conjecture away and turned back. Redmond's eyes were shifting away from her. He said quietly, "They may have led Claude's lot in another direction, you know."

  She brightened. "Yes! Or perhaps they decided to go to Steep Drummond and ask the General for help after all."

  "Very likely. Do you have any notion how many men were in the boats you saw?"

  "About twenty in each, I should think."

  He was silent, frowning slightly.

  "Oh!" exclaimed Charity. "You are thinking that even if my brother and the rest of them did ride to Steep Drummond, Claude could afford to split his men!"

  He said dryly, "No one could accuse you of being dull-witted, Miss Strand."

  "Then why do we go so slowly? It will be dark soon, and this is Saturday, Mr. Redmond."

  He pointed ahead. "That is why," he said simply.

  Looking where he indicated, Charity gave a gasp. Gone were the gentle hills. Before them lay an increasingly rugged landscape with jutting crags and boulder-strewn ravines. The white plume of a waterfall shot out from a steep bluff a mile or so distant, the sunlight awakening a small rainbow about the descending spray. Below them, a hurrying stream sparkled, and the lesser slopes were rich with trees and shrubs and the royal carpet of the heather.

  Watching her thin face, Redmond saw her lower lip sag a little and the great greenish eyes take on an awed glow. "Oh, how magnificent," she breathed.

  "I doubt the horses would agree," he said with brusque impatience, and started his chestnut forward again. "If we're to reach Dumfries before dark, ma'am, we must go along as steadily as we can without overtaxing these poor hacks."

  "Before dark?" she echoed anxiously. "Good heavens! I'd fancied we were almost there. How far have we to go?"

&nb
sp; "About twenty miles." He added, "As the crow flies."

  But they were not crows. The terrain became ever more difficult. There were no paths now, and he could only be on the lookout for the few landmarks the crofter had told him of. They had to dismount often and lead their horses, clambering over rocky and uneven ground. Charity, her balance not good at best, followed Redmond's mare, stumbling often and glad he did not see her clumsiness. As the miles slowly slipped past, she began to tire again, but she persevered doggedly, refusing to look ahead, struggling to keep pace, and determined not to allow exhaustion to overpower her.

  She soon discovered that going up was dreadful, but that going down was worse. They were leading the horses, another waterfall booming to their left, when her boot turned on the slippery surface and she could not restrain a shriek as she fell. An arm of iron whipped around her. She was slammed against Redmond's chest, her nose buried in his cravat. Shuddering, she clung to him for an instant, then pulled away, panting out her thanks.

  This time when she looked up at him, he did not evade her glance but scanned her face narrowly. "Are you all right? I'm a clod for not remembering that you were ill for a long time."

  "No, really. I'm perfectly… fine, now." She fought to regain her breath and—ignoring the catch in her side, her stiff aching muscles and sore feet—summoned a smile. It faded when it was returned by a scowl. Her heart sinking again, she faltered, "I am slowing you dreadfully… am I?"

  A reluctant smile dawned. "You are doing splendidly. All this clambering about and no word of complaint. How fortunate I am that you are no pampered beauty, else I do not doubt I'd have been dealing with the vapours long since."

  He was surprised that these kind remarks should have produced such a stormy look. Guessing (wrongly) at the reason, he admitted, "I should have kept to the main road, I suppose. But it seemed safer not to do so. And the crofter told me we could lop ten miles from the journey by following this route. Cheer up, ma'am. We will rest for a moment. The horses—"

  "Are doing very well," she put in with a determined little nod. "Mr. Redmond, you must not think of me as a woman. I am simply a—a comrade in arms!"

  It was unfortunate that at that moment of nobility she should stumble again. Steadying her, Redmond's eyes began to twinkle. "So that's what is meant by that term," he said, his arm about her waist.

  Mortified, she pushed him away. "You mistake it! I had not the least intention— I mean, pray do not suppose I want, er, I mean—''

  He released her as though her touch burnt him. "But of course. I am not to think of you as a woman. Very understandable." And with his faintly sneering smile he said, "En avant, Monsieur Mulot."

  "Fieldmouse?" expostulated Charity, indignantly.

  "I am told not to think of you as a woman. I must think of you as you requested—a comrade. A male comrade. And fieldmice are small as is my comrade. Also, they have very bright eyes.'' He shrugged. '' Now, if you are done with this frivolity, miss—monsieur, perhaps we might continue?"

  He took up his reins and walked on.

  Following, Charity muttered, "Fieldmouse, indeed!"

  Soon, they left the rugged passes and came out into more open country. Redmond seemed relieved and, suspecting he had been lost, Charity asked if he knew where they were.

  "Still in Scotland," he replied noncommittally.

  She sniffed. "How very illuminating."

  The corners of his lips quivered. He slanted an amused glance at her. "Wildcat!"

  "Do not confuse your creatures, sir. I am the fieldmouse, remember?"

  "True. Very well, monsieur. Prepare yourself. We must travel faster now, else we'll be caught out all night."

  "How fortunate that I am not a 'pampered beauty,' " she retorted dryly.

  So that was what had irked her. With a furtive grin he said, "Yes, indeed," thereby further infuriating her, and spurred to a gallop.

  Unaccountably, tears stung Charity's eyes. She had pushed back the hair from her perspiring forehead so many times that she was very sure she had a dirty face. And if her coiffure had suffered as badly as she suspected, she must look a fright. But she had managed to keep up, and all he could do was speak scarcely a word for hours and then be horrid. Spurring so as to come up with him, she thought, "I wonder if Claude is near?" Shivering, she glanced back. The hills rose green and peaceful and majestic, with no sign of pursuing riders.

  "Monsieur Mulot, wake up!"

  The voice was far away but there was an urgency about it that demanded a response. Opening heavy eyes, Charity saw something dark and hairy within an inch of her nose, and she sprang up with a small shriek.

  It was dusk and cold, and she was still mounted on the poor hack. Mitchell Redmond stood at her left stirrup, looking up at her. Reality burst in upon her, and her mouth drooped.

  "Bad dream?" Redmond enquired mildly.

  "I thought it was a great spider," she said foolishly. And then, overcome by guilt, "Oh, I am so sorry! What a widgeon I am."

  He stared up at her, his smile fading.

  Stung, she thought, "He might at least have denied it!"

  "Where are we now?" she asked, and added a pithy, "Or do you know, Mr. Redmond?"

  "We are coming into Dumfries. See the lights yonder? But your horse has thrown a shoe, I think, and you cannot ride through the town with your skirts hoisted up over your knees. Although they're pretty knees, I grant you."

  "How dare—" Her gaze flashed downward. Aghast, she saw that he was perfectly correct, but when she instinctively made to tug at her skirts, her hands refused to move.

  Redmond said, "If you will dismount now. Monsieur Mulot…?" His voice hardened. "I assure you I mean only to lift you down."

  "Yes. I heard you. But I—I cannot seem to move."

  Frowning, he reached up and began gently to unpry her fingers. They were icy cold and white from the sustained effort of holding to the reins. "Poor fieldmouse," he said in a very kind voice. "At least tonight should see the end of this for you. There—lean to me, now."

  She obeyed, but when he set her down, she could not walk and would have fallen if he'd not continued to hold her. She thought no more of it than that she was stiff from the unaccustomed exercise, but Mitchell, recalling that she'd been without the use of her legs for three years, was terrified. Having not the least notion of that fact, she wailed faintly, "How stupid!"

  "Nonsense," he said gruffly. "But you shall have to endure my touch, I'm afraid."

  She glanced at him sharply, but he was looking around the rough moorland rise whereon they had halted. He carried her to a small boulder nearby and sat her on it.

  "Here we go," he said, and whipped up the skirts of her habit.

  With an outraged shriek, Charity sprang up. Redmond straightened also and made a lunge for her.

  With all her strength, she slapped his face and tottered back. "Beast!" she screamed. "Horrid, womanizing, cowardly beast!"

  Even in the dusk she saw his face whiten. Then he was upon her. Ignoring the little fists that clawed and beat at him, he swung her into his arms, carried her back to the rock and slammed her onto it once more. He flinched as her nails raked his cheek, and he seized her flying fists, holding them so tightly that she was powerless and crouched in helpless fury, glaring up at him.

  "Had you an ounce of common sense, madam," he snarled between his teeth,"you would know my only thought was to restore the use of your limbs as quickly as possible. Certainly not to roll you around in the grass for a jolly interlude!"

  Her cheeks flamed, and her eyes fell before the fierce blaze of his own. He muttered something furiously, but she made no further demur as he pulled up her skirts again. He began to massage her legs, his hands firm and strong and efficient, until she began to fear the frail stuff of her lacy chemise would rip under his ministrations. Soon, the blood was coursing through her legs so painfully that she could scarcely keep from weeping. Somehow, she kept silent, sitting there feeling beyond words ridiculous with her legs s
tuck out and her flaming face averted, until he sighed and drew back.

  He said with cold but meticulous politeness, "There, ma'am. See if you can stand now."

  Without a word, Charity took his hand and stood. She gasped as she began to totter about, but she did not fall.

  Redmond said judicially, "That's better. We'll walk a little way, and then you can ride my horse. We shall have to get yours shod, but with luck we can ride these hacks again after we find some food for all of us."

  Charity's attempt to answer was foiled by the refusal of her voice to obey her wishes. She felt sunk with shame that she had behaved in such a way, but also horribly embarrassed that Mr. Redmond had seen her undergarments and had touched her legs. Yet she knew also that he did indeed regard her as an object, not as a woman. And that his intentions had been so far from what she'd imagined that he must think her a total henwit.

  Looking at her averted face, he said scornfully,"Lord, are you still trembling, then? I do assure you, Monsieur Mulot, that you've no least cause for such maidenly fears. This— coward—will never lay hands upon your, er, limbs again."

  She heard the brief pause before he said "coward'' and the harsh bitterness with which it was ground out, and her heart thudded into her shoes. Why ever had she called him so? How could she have used that word after what had transpired in Claude's war room? How could she have been so thoughtless and so cruel? Wretchedly, she stammered, "No, I did not mean— That is, I—I know you were trying to—"

  "Here," he said impatiently, "mount up, and we'll be on our way. You can ride sidesaddle for this last leg—er, I mean, for this last part of the journey—if you can manage."

  Meekly, she allowed him to boost her into the saddle. She could have wept when her blistered bottom struck the leather, but she clenched her teeth, clung to the pommel, and endured.

  Redmond stalked ahead, leading her hack. Charity watched his ramrod-stiff back. He had behaved disgracefully with Claude, at first. But he was no coward, for a coward would never have walked alone into Tor Keep; besides, once freed of the menace of the whip, he had fought bravely and well.