Glancing up miserably, she saw the lights drawing nearer. Puzzled, she called, "Mr. Redmond, I had thought it a larger town."
He hesitated, then said, "I believe it is built on hills. We likely only see a portion of it, but I fancy there will be an ordinary where we can get some supper after we find a smithy."
Charity hadn't known how hungry she was until he said "supper," but the suggestion of an ordinary was confusing. "Could we not eat in the inn, or wherever you mean to pass the night?" she asked.
Again, he did not at once reply. Then, "It should be fairly bright later," he said. "The skies are clear now, as you see, and the moon should be nearing the half."
Charity, whose thoughts had dwelt with unutterable yearning on a bed—if only a blanket on the floor where she might stretch out and sleep—said bravely, "We will go on then, after we eat?"
In the darkness, Redmond's lips quirked to the sound of that wistful little voice. He said, "I shall go on, monsieur. You will—"
"Oh no!" She spurred the tired hack until she was level with him. "You would not leave me?" She reached down to tug at his sleeve. "Please, please! I know I am a—a nuisance, but—"
"Not at all. I merely think you will be safer here with the stalwart Scots than you would be in the wilderness with a nefarious individual such as—"
''But I did not mean it! You know I did not! You are a brave gentleman, and I was tired and did not think before I—"
"Foolish mouse." He patted her hand gently. "You are so weary you're all but asleep at this very minute. How could I ask you to go on? Be sensible."
"If you leave me, Claude will find me! I know it! I beg you, do not!"
He frowned up at her. "You have little faith in your brother, ma'am. What if he finds you first?"
"How I pray he will. How I pray they all are safe! But what chance is there that they should come to this town and stop in the very same locale as we? Mr. Redmond, you cannot desert me."
He turned away, and because he was troubled and shared her fears, he said jeeringly, "Here is very much concern for 'I,' my staunch patriot."
Charity stiffened. "Oh, but you are horrid! Were the truth told, I doubt I have delayed you by one instant!"
"And even had you not, how do you feel, ma'am? How does that soft little derrière of yours—"
"Oh! How dare you!"
"I'd dare more than that to convince your stubbornness. Good God, woman! Don't you realize that if you're stiff and sore now, you will be scarce able to move tomorrow? A sheltered gentlewoman such as yourself could no more ride at the gallop for three days and nights than—"
"Juanita Smith was a sheltered gentlewoman," she flung at him, "and she not only rode at the gallop, but forded rivers and froze in the snow and—"
"And climbed the Pyrenees beside her husband," he interjected. "Aye—and she is as brave as she's lovely, but—"
Forgetting her resentment, she asked eagerly, "Were you in the Peninsula then? How splendid! Have you met her?"
"Her husband was a Brigade Major with the Ninety-fifth Rifles. My brother was with the Forty-third Regiment. Both Light Division. They served together, so that it was my honour to meet Juana after her husband sailed for America. And, no, ma'am. Another of my many failings. I was not with the army."
She frowned at his back. His head was very high against the night sky. "Lord," she thought, "but he is eaten up with pride! Foolish creature!" Still, part of what he said was truth. She was so weary it was all she could do not to sleep where she sat, and there seemed not an inch of her that was not cold and aching. She would be better after she had eaten and rested, though. And tightening her lips, she vowed fiercely, ''He shall not leave me!"
They were coming to the first straggling dwellings of the town now. Lamplight gleamed from cottage windows; the delicious smells of woodsmoke and cooking hung on the air. A dog barked at them and then trotted alongside companion-ably, and somewhere two cats traded shrill feline insults. At once, Charity was reminded of Little Patches, and her shoulders sagged forlornly.
"Wake up!" called Redmond impatiently. "Look, a smithy!"
A bright glow lit the night ahead; a sturdy barn, the doors wide, the brazier pulsing with brilliant coals and leaping flame. Despite the chill of the night air, several men were gathered by the doors, chatting amiably, and the smith, his broad features lighted by the fire, stood with sooty hands on hips, watching Redmond lead up the limping horse.
"Well, now, "he said in a deep North Country voice. "Be ye and yer lady coom fer me services?"
Staring at Charity, one of the men chuckled and dug his neighbour in the ribs. Redmond scowled at him. "I amuse you, sir?" he asked, well aware that Charity's dishevelled state had inspired this insolence.
"Och, but the feisty cockerel will spit me wi' his claymore, belike," said the offender, then flung up a hand as Redmond tossed the reins to Charity and started towards him. "No offense, y'r lordship. 'Tis aw in guid clean fun, y'ken?"
There was certainly no ill will in the broad grins turned upon him. "They're all bosky," thought Redmond, pausing. "That damnable Scotch whisky, I'll warrant!" And with a sigh for some of that damnable stuff, he turned about and reached up to lift Charity from the saddle.
Again, her knees betrayed her and she sagged against him. Stifled giggles arose from the onlookers as Redmond was obliged to hold her for a minute, and he cursed under his breath.
"I'd not interrupt ye, sir and ma'am, but y'r nag'll need a new shoe," the smith pointed out redundantly. "And ye'll likely want the pair fed and watered, eh?"
Looking at him over Charity's pert little hat, Redmond demanded, "How long is all this going to take?"
"A wee bit, er, pressed, are ye?" asked the smith, reducing his friends to convulsions. "Where might you and the lady hale from, sir?"
"We might hale from Timbuctoo, but—"
"Mr. Redmond is from Hampshire and London," Charity intervened wearily, stepping back from his supporting arms. " And I am from Sussex."
"Thought so," the smith said, nodding smugly. "I bin to Lon'on. Recernized yer way o' talking. Now didn't I tell ye so, Bert?"
"I am in a hurry," imparted Redmond.
"Ar. Well, we all is, ain't we, sir?"
The smith grinned at his friends who, ready to laugh at anything apparently, guffawed loudly, one uptilting a flask which confirmed Redmond's suspicions. Aggravated, he whirled on them sharply and they scattered, still whooping, into the night.
"Ye'll likely find our ways a mite different up here," said the smith. "But I reckon ye won't be much upset, eh?" His beaming grin faded when it met a cold glare. " Ar," he said, with a sniff. "All right, then. Redmond be the name, eh? Ye get that, Jamie?"
A shock-headed lad, writing laboriously in a ledger, nodded. "Fust name?" he asked, yawning.
"You certainly do things differently," grumbled Redmond, trying to contain his building wrath.
"I've heard the Scots are very thrifty," whispered Charity, tugging at his sleeve. "Please, could we hurry? I am so very tired."
She looked wan and exhausted. Redmond snapped, "My name is Mitchell Redmond. M-i-t-c-h-e-l-l." He added sardonically, "You get that down, Jamie?"
"Ar. And the lady?"
"The deuce! If ever I—"
Charity intervened hurriedly, "I am Charity Strand. But we are only renting the horses, you know. Is that all you need?"
"Cripes, missus!" The smith scratched his grizzled head. "Folks ain't usually in this much of a hurry. Was ye meaning to leave the nags here, then?"
"Good God!" gritted Redmond. "Do you want the bill of sale, I've not got it!" The smith stared at him openmouthed. Relegating him to the status of an escaped Bedlamite, Redmond tried another tack. "My apologies if we, ah, violate your regular ways of conducting business. We are, as I'd thought to have made clear, in a great hurry. I'll make it worth your trouble to expedite matters."
He had spoken the magic words. "Ar," said the smith, grinning broadly. "In that case, we'll mak
e do wi' what we got. And don't ye never worrit, everything'll be done right and proper and yer nags took good care of.''
"Thank you. Now, the lady is tired. If you'll direct us to a tavern we will return when you've finished." The smith blinked and, anticipating some further cause for complaint, Redmond added a sarcastic, "Unless you disapprove."
"They'd oughta sign first," said the boy with an offended frown.
"Great stamping snails!" Redmond marched to the dim corner where the boy hovered. "Sign—where?"
Jamie jabbed a grubby finger at a well-worn ledger. " 'Ere, sir. The lady, too." And alarmed by the glare sparking from those deadly grey eyes, he cried hastily, "It do be the law, sir!"
"Then you've some damned stupid laws up here," raged Mitchell. "My apologies, ma'am, but to satisfy these dolts…"
She tottered over and scrawled her name, the page blurring before her eyes.
Slipping a steadying arm about her, Redmond said, "Now, kindly direct me to an inn where we may be comfortable."
A dead silence followed this reasonable request.
Breathing rather hard, Redmond enquired grittily, "You do speak English, I think?"
"I'll… be gormed," whispered Jamie.
"You'll be damned well sat on your brazier in a minute!'' roared Redmond, his right fist clenching.
"Down the lane, yonder," said the smith hurriedly. "The New World. Sits back, it do. Quiet and reasonable like. Will ye be paying me in the marning then, sir?"
"The morning! Devil I will! Have the horses fed and watered and the mare shod in an hour, if you please."
Still supporting Charity's wilting form, Redmond strode into the lane, muttering maledictions upon all bacon-brained Scots blacksmiths.
They left behind a stunned silence.
Looking at the boy, the smith whistled. "The bare-faced gall of some o' they Lun'on folks! Lor', but it's a wicked city and no mistake!"
"If ever I see a pair on the run," the boy said, nodding owlishly.
"Didn't want to give his name . . .?"
Jamie grinned. " 'Where we may be comfortable,' " he said, mimicking Redmond's cultured accents.
The smith gave a rumble of laughter. The boy joined in., and they laughed until the night rang with the sound of it.
Chapter 15
Charity awoke slowly, resenting the heavy hand that tugged at her shoulder. Blinking heavy eyes, she saw a round white blob that gradually materialized into the wavering flame of a candle with beyond it a comely, rosy-cheeked face framed by a frilly mob cap.
"Och, but it be a wicked shame tae wake ye afore dawn, missus," said this vision repentantly. "But last nicht, ye ken, ye was sae fashed lest I promise tae rrrrouse ye afore y'rmon was abrrroad."
Charity regarded her drowsily. Her man… ? What on earth was the girl—"Good heavens!" she gasped, sitting up as memory returned. And, "Ahhh!" she cried to the protest of muscles seemingly nailed to her bones.
"Puir wee lassie," commiserated the maid, but with a dimple of mischief appearing in her cheek.
"He—he's not… gone?" Charity managed to enquire.
"Gone? What—and leave ye sae soon? Losh! He wouldna be sae hearrrtless, surely?"
"Much you know of it," grumbled Charity, but seeing consternation come into the guileless face, she smiled and went on, "He worries that I cannot ride again today. Ride we must, and I've no wish to be left alone, you see."
"Ah," said the girl, smiling and nodding as though much relieved. "Is't stiff ye are, then? I'll run fer me liniment. Nae, do ye not stirrr, missus. We'll hae ye up and aboot 'fore the rat can wink his eye!" And she was gone, leaving Charity to the amused reflection that there were more differences than accent in the way English was spoken in Scotland.
The maid was as good as her word; Charity was anointed, massaged, and bathed, and all with firm expert hands, so that by the time she was ready to dress she felt much restored. Her garments had been laundered while she slept, and her habit brushed and pressed. The maid told her that Mr. Redmond had arranged this, and Charity felt a warm gratitude as she: donned the fresh, clean clothes.
Thus it was that when Mitchell Redmond emerged from his room, it was to see the door opposite opening and Charity stepping into the hall. She looked neat as a pin, he thought. The touch of yesterday's sun and wind glowed from her cheeks and the end of her little nose, and her hair seemed to have been lightened a shade or two so that it shone like guinea gold against her skin.
Charity greeted him with a shy and rather anxious smile. "It was very kind in you to let me rest here, when I know you had planned to leave at once. And I do so thank you for having my clothes laundered. I only hope we've not lost a great deal of time because of it."
"We'd not have got very far at all events," he said, politely offering his arm as they walked to the stairs. "A mist came up which must have stopped any traveller. I was tired myself, to say truth. But we created quite some consternation when I carried you up the stairs. Do you remember?" He chuckled. "I think the host's good lady was shattered when I left you and went to my own chamber."
Blushing, Charity said, "It's very clear they do not believe we are brother and sister." The words at once brought thought of Justin and Rachel, and the swift thrust of worry.
Redmond was beginning to recognize the emotions that flashed so swiftly across her small face. He murmured, "If they had come up with us I'd have asked Dev or your brother to stay here with you. As it is…" His lips tightened and he left the sentence unfinished.
She looked up at him as they came to the downstairs hall. It was the first time she'd seen his face clearly since the previous afternoon, for everything after dusk was a vague blur. Guilt seized her when she saw the scratches she'd put on his cheek. He looked stern, and she said, "You must be just as anxious as I. Your uncle seems such a warm-hearted man, and Rachel told me that you and your brother are very attached.''
His expression softened. "Yes. I've seen little of Harry this past year, but he's a dashed good fellow."
At this point the tavern keeper bustled up to them, all smiles, to usher them into the coffee room where a fire was already roaring up the chimney, and a branch of candles brightening the table he led them to.
Pulling out Charity's chair, Redmond said, "I'm afraid we can't wait, host. We'll have whatever's ready. When does the smithy open?"
"Which one, sir?" His dark little eyes beaming merrily, the rotund man answered, "There be an ample sufficiency of 'em hereabouts."
"Natural enough in a town this size." Redmond took the opposite chair. "It was a short way down the lane."
"Ah, ye'll be meaning Samuel's, I expect. He's likely at work this hour and more. Now, sir, we've some rare cold ham, and me old woman's already got eggs a-sizzling in the pan. With some fresh bannocks and coffee—would that suit?"
It suited very well, and when they had done justice to it and the host had poured two steaming mugs of excellent coffee and departed, Charity asked, "Should we not delay long enough to look about the town a little before we leave? Our people may have come up with us in the night."
"So might Sanguinet. And we'd waste a good hour until full light."
Charity trembled and raised no more demurrals. Redmond paid their tariff, and they went into the cold misty dawn and started down the lane. Despite the abigail's ministrations, Charity was aghast to find she could scarcely put one foot before the other, and her knees seemed during the night to have become markedly farther apart than they'd been hitherto. She had the unhappy impression that she was waddling like a duck and was grateful for the darkness as she struggled along.
The smithy door was wide, the bellows busily at work, the brazier glowing. The horses were ready, and Charity noted with delight that a sidesaddle had been put on the mare. Redmond ignored her thanks, being himself exasperated by the charges, which he grumbled were excessive. The smith gave him a hard look, and for a moment Charity thought he was going to refuse to divulge the direction to Carlisle, but he barked out a few
instructions, then turned and went off, to come back with a folded sheet of paper that he thrust at Redmond. "Here," he grunted. "Ye might find this of use."
Somewhat mollified, Redmond put the paper in his pocket. He paid the man off, threw Charity up into the saddle, and they rode into the lane.
"Odd old duck," Redmond muttered.
Trying not to whimper as she adjusted painfully to the movements of the horse, Charity pointed out that it was nice of the smith to write down the direction for them.
"Nice, but scarcely necessary. His instructions were not so complex I can't remember 'em."
Despite this assertion, it was still too dark to see very far, and Redmond had to strain his eyes to find the narrow lane the smith had suggested they follow. Charity tried to ignore her many discomforts and sent up a belated prayer of thanks for their having journeyed this far without being caught by Sanguinet's men. She followed this with a plea that today she might do better and not become so exhausted as she had done yesterday.
They left the lane when they came to a wider thoroughfare, and soon were clattering over a bridge. By the time the sky in the east was lightening, they had turned south and the intervening hills blocked any view they might have had of Dumfries. They held to a steady lope for several miles, and it seemed to Charity that she ached less, perhaps because she was so much more at home in the familiar sidesaddle.
The sun came up; a few clouds drifted lazily about, and the azure sky promised a lovely day to come. Redmond was quiet and withdrawn. His shirt looked freshly laundered, and his cravat was as neatly tied as though his faithful little valet had dressed him. His lean face was slightly bronzed, which made him, thought Charity, better looking than ever, but he seemed troubled and she wondered if he'd lost his way again. She said nothing, fearing to ruffle his famous pride.
Meeting her gaze, he said, "D'ye see the water to the west of us? That'll be the Solway."
The sparkling blue Firth looked cool and inviting against the deep green of the meadows. "How very pretty it is,'' she murmured.
Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown Page 23