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

by Patricia Veryan

  Redmond scowled. "We can't dawdle like this, ma'am." She looked at him, and he added grimly, "It is Sunday."

  She thought, "Heaven help us! It is!" and urged her willing mare to a canter.

  It was very early, and for a time they encountered little traffic. An occasional cart rattled northwards, and once a stagecoach bowled past at a great rate of speed, the outside passengers hanging on for dear life and looking tired and rumpled.

  Soon Redmond slowed to the lope again. The miles and hours slipped away, and the sun became warmer. Up hill and down they went, through dappled drowsing woods and beside serene lakes, until gradually the trees gave way to rolling heathland, mile upon mile of it, stretching away to the horizon. Charity was beginning to long for a rest when Redmond reined in and sat motionless, staring ahead so fixedly that her heart gave a leap of apprehension. Looking where he looked, she saw what appeared to be an elevated path, long and narrow, winding away to east and west as far as the eye could see, the stone sides that supported it covered with mosses and small plants, the narrow surface grassed over.

  Awed, she whispered, "Hadrian's Wall! Oh, I had never realized it stuck up so high!"

  "Twelve feet or thereabouts," he murmured. "Higher in the east."

  It was quite a different voice. Charity glanced at him sharply. The stern expression had given way to a dreaming look; a younger look. She thought, "So this is the scholar." And wanting for some obscure reason to prolong this new mood, she said, "Only think, it has been standing here on guard like this, for seventeen hundred years."

  He smiled in proprietary fashion at that mighty wall. "There were one thousand cavalry at Carlisle."

  "Yes. Romans, with their tunics and swords and helms… Oh, Mr. Redmond, can you not picture them riding proudly along the top? Dare we . .

  He turned to her, a boyish eagerness lighting his eyes. "The horses should have a rest…"

  They grinned conspiratorially at each other, galloped down the slope, and turned off the road at the foot of the wall.

  Redmond leapt from the saddle and lifted Charity down. They tethered the horses to some nearby shrubs. Redmond put out his hand, Charity put hers into it, and they ran along until they came to some rough steps leading upwards. Redmond helped Charity over the more difficult spots, and at the top they stepped gingerly onto the ancient surface, their feet treading where the sandals of Rome's Centurions had trod so many long centuries ago. They walked only a short way and by mutual consent stopped, looking north to the rugged grandeur that was Scotland and south to the blue mountains of England.

  There was no sign of another human being. The sweet warm air whispered against their faces; a solitary puffy white cloud meandered across the heavens; a little clump of wild-flowers danced to the tune of the breeze, lifting pink and violet faces to the sun. Charity closed her eyes for a moment. Only the faint call of a cuckoo disturbed the silence—a silence that might have been that of almost two thousand years past… Almost she could hear the tramp of feet, the clank of sidearms; almost she could see the glint of the sun on armour… Opening her eyes, she saw Redmond watching her, faintly smiling.

  '"The inaudible and noiseless foot of time,' " he quoted.

  "Yes. I wonder what they talked of, or hoped for. One pictures them as having been so strong and merciless. But I suppose they were only ordinary human beings, marching along this wall in a strange, barbaric land. Dreaming of sweethearts, perhaps, or wives and children left behind…"

  "Or of dinner, waiting up ahead. But only see how it goes on and on. Is it not marvelous? Yet how many wretched lives were spent in laying these stones one upon the other, day after day, year after year.''

  Charity stumbled, and his arm went out instinctively to steady her. Unthinkingly, she allowed her arm to slip in a reciprocal fashion around his waist. "I wonder," she said, "if they had any notion it would last this long?"

  Her words jogged him back to harsh reality. "We have been here too long," he said. And only then did they both notice exactly how they stood.

  They each stepped back hurriedly. Redmond glanced to the north, trod on a crumbling edge that disintegrated beneath his boot, and toppled. One instant he was beside Charity. The next, with a shocked cry, he had fallen from sight.

  She gave a little shriek, picked up the skirts of her habit and fairly flew to the steps. Backing down, she slid the last three, skinning her knees, but she scrambled up at once to race, panicked, to where he lay.

  He lifted his head and peered up at her. "What a gudgeon you must think… me," he panted laughingly.

  She sank down beside him. "Are you all right? My heavens! You might have broken your back!"

  He felt his side and one hip, and said with a rueful grin, "I think my, er, dignity is bruised."

  Relieved, she said, "Another affliction we share."

  He lay there for a minute, catching his breath, watching her. Touched by the sun, her hair formed a bright halo around her fragile features, and he saw that now, in this light, her eyes were more green than grey. "She's really quite a taking little thing, "he thought. "And pluck to the backbone…"

  "What," he asked, "is the other?"

  "Why, our love of history, of course."

  "Yes." He sat up. "And if we're to see England's history prosper, Monsieur Mulot, we must be on our way."

  Charity picked up the paper that had fallen from his jacket during his rapid descent. "Your directions… comrade."

  He accepted the paper, stood, and assisted Charity to her feet. Starting off, he gripped his side. ''Jove,'' he said, as her anxious eyes flew to his face, "the ground's harder than I'd thought. Never mind"—he flourished the paper—"on to Carlisle! Now how do you suppose that slowtop thought I could read his directions in the dark?" He unfolded the sheet, glancing at it idly.

  Holding up her habit, Charity walked along a few steps, realized he was not beside her and turned back.

  He was staring down at the directions, the paper shaking in his hand, his face white as a sheet, and his expression one of stark horror.

  Frightened, she cried, "Oh! Whatever is it?"and ran back to him.

  He whipped the paper behind him and retreated a step, his eyes very wide as he stared at her. "My God…!" he gasped. "Oh, my God!"

  "What? What?"

  "Of all the damnable things!" He withdrew another step, still staring at her as though she had suddenly changed into a griffin. "I thought it took us too long to get to Dumfries! But that stupid crofter said if I didn't know the country 'twould likely seem a three day's journey rather than one, so I never suspected—"

  Wringing her hands, terrified by his distraught manner, she demanded, "What are you talking about? I do not understand. Why should it be so bad if we are a little out of our way? We've still time, have we not?"

  "A lifetime!" he groaned, throwing up one clenched fist to his forehead. And then, recovering a little, he took a deep breath, drew himself up, and his face still very pale, his mouth twitching, said hoarsely, "Madam… I—I scarce know how to tell you." He bit his lip and went on as steadily as he could manage, "That damnable smithy last night was—was not in Dumfries! It was—" Words failed him, but he squared his shoulders, gripped his hands tighter, and ploughed on. "It was in—Gretna Green."

  "Oh, was it?" Charity said. "How I should like to have seen the marriage chapels. It was so dark when we got there, that I saw very little…of…" Her words trailed off, a dread suspicion striking her. How desperately he watched her, and a little pulse was beating and beating beside his mouth.

  "Most of the marriages performed in Gretna Green," Redmond croaked, "are not performed in churches, ma'am, but over the… the anvil of a… smithy."

  A faint, squawking shriek escaped Charity. Her attempt to speak was foiled because her throat seemed to have closed entirely.

  "We," Redmond confirmed in anguish, "are… married!"

  "No!" She snatched the paper from his palsied hand, spread it, and read her doom. "It cannot be!" she wailed. "
We took no vows! We made no promises!"

  "We—I told them we were in a—a hurry, and—and to expedite matters."

  "Oh! Oh! How could you? I do not want to be married to you, Mr. Redmond!"

  "By God! Do you think that I—" He bit back the rest of that unchivalrous rejoinder and ground his teeth in a passion of rageful frustration.

  "You must have known," she accused, her eyes flashing with panic, "when those beastly men all giggled and behaved in such a way. Oh, how could you have been so lost you thought we were in Dumfries, when all the time—"

  "I have never been in Scotland before," he defended irately. "I thought they were laughing because y—we looked so tired and rumpled. And besides, you were no more aware than was I!"

  "I was too tired to know where I was," she whimpered, close to tears. "You are a man. I thought you knew what you were doing!"

  Furious with her and more furious with himself, he snarled, "Do you seriously think I'd have signed that blasted ledger of his, had I suspected?"

  "Oh. Oh! And you made me sign it!"

  "For Lord's sake, ma'am, never accuse me of forcing you into wedlock!"

  "Well, you did! I relied on you and—and you said for the sake of satisfying that dirty man… Oh!" Her voice shredded. "What a disgrace! Whatever am I to tell my family? I shall never be able to hold up my head again!''

  Redmond regarded her smoulderingly. "Dash it all, there's nothing to cry about. We'll—make it right somehow."

  She had turned away to dab a tiny handkerchief at her nose, but now she whirled on him like a tigress. "How? Tell me that! You signed that miserable book and so did I! Oh… I am married… Married… !"

  Smarting, he said, "There are worse fates, you know! Matter of fact, I know one or two ladies who might not swoon at the thought of wedding me."

  "Horrid… braggart…" she sobbed.

  He glared at her. Then, glancing northwards, he said stiffly, "Madam, you've my humblest apologies. I'll own I've made mice feet of the business. But might your preoccupation with yourself perhaps be set aside until we reach Brighton?"

  He was right of course. Charity dashed her tears away and tried to control her quivering lips as her husband tossed her into the saddle.

  His brow black as thunder, Redmond mounted with considerably less grace than usual.

  The newly married pair came swiftly to a canter and rode all the way to Carlisle in grim silence.

  The round little ostler standing with hands clasped behind him rocked gently back and forth, his bright dark eyes turning appraisingly from the Corinthian gent to the quiet, fair-haired young woman who watched them from the coffee room, and back to the Corinthian. His round bald head shone in the light of the morning sun, and his permanently arched bushy eyebrows seemed to ask a silent question, "Are they—or aren't they?… Are they—or aren't they… ?"

  Scowling at him, Mitchell demanded an irked, "Why the devil not? There's a road through there I know, for some friends rode this way only last year. I believe they said they passed through Keswick and went down through Windermere."

  "Ar," the ostler agreed, his eyes rounder than ever. "And very beautifool it be too, sir. But did these friends of yourn have a lady along of 'em, might I ask that?"

  "Oh," said Mitchell glumly.

  The ostler's hands parted and he lifted one. "Straight up, and straight down, sir," he said with corresponding gestures. "Not so diffeecult for gents at this time of year. But the ladies, Gord bless 'em…"He shook his head, clasped his hands as before and added blandly, "Less'n your, er, the lady ain't going along, sir?"

  "The lady will be accompanying me. I suppose—a coach, or a curricle?"

  The ostler regarded him pityingly.

  "Well, blast it all," fumed Redmond, "which way do we go? Dammit, man, I've to be in, er, in London by Wednesday!"

  The ostler stopped rocking and stared at him. "If so be you had wings, sir,'' he said with a faintly incredulous smirk."Or if so be the, er, lady wasn't to accompany you."

  "I already told you, she is to accompany me." Redmond thought a bitter, "More's the pity!"

  "Must we take ship, then?"

  "Could," said the ostler, recommencing his rocking. "Could be becalmed, 'course. Or could be stuck in the fog, which would likely have you lying off Blackpool come Wednesday…" He grinned at this jolly jest, but his amusement faded before Redmond's glare. "Or," he added hastily, "you could ride to the far west, follow along the coast, and then take the Morecambe Bay sands to Lancaster. From there you could make for Preston and Liverpool.''

  Redmond thanked him, arranged for fresh horses, and stamped out of the yard grumbling about the lack of decent roads in England.

  Watching that tall straight figure, the ostler's bright eyes were thoughtful. His entire person seemed to ponder the question, "Are they—or aren't they? Are they—or aren't they?''

  "Is he never going to rest again?" thought Charity, and wondered for how much longer she could keep upright in the saddle. She ached all over, she was parched with thirst, and her stomach cramped with hunger. She knew that her curls were tangled, and she'd given up pushing flyaway wisps from her dusty face. Her husband had not spoken for an eternity and looked ready to do bloody murder. "Still in shock, poor fellow," she thought cynically. "Only fancy, he has married a poor little dab of a girl, instead of one of his famous beauties." But despite this venture into bitterness, her initial rage and resentment had faded somewhat. Initially, she had considered only her own predicament, but his must be as miserable. And although it was very well to blame him for their unorthodox wedding, he had likely been as tired as she in that wretched smithy, and perhaps more concerned for her weariness than he had betrayed. Certainly, she could not blame him now for riding as hard as they'd done since leaving Carlisle…

  She was slumping again. She straightened up wearily. The weak sun was beginning to dip over the grey waters of the sea. It must be midafternoon, she judged. Only midafternoon? So many endless hours since they'd left Carlisle. The beauties of the coastline had impressed her at first, with the broad stretches of golden sand, the lush green of its meadows, the soaring might of the mountains that rose to the east. But for this past hour and more she had scarcely noticed her surroundings, her full concentration bent upon keeping up, on not causing Redmond one more moment of delay by begging him to stop and find her some water. And still, on and on they went, the pound of hooves, the sway and jolt of this interminable ride sapping her strength.

  "We must rest the horses now, Madame Mulot."

  Charity was startled to find them halted and Redmond standing at her stirrup. She slid into his arms and tottered where he led her, to sink gratefully against a tree. For a moment she just sagged there, eyes closed, enjoying the blissful freedom from effort. When she looked up, he was glaring at her ferociously, but he said nothing, bending to thrust a flask into her uncertain hand. He had left her in the coffee room at Carlisle for a short time, and when he'd come back she had seen him stuffing some purchases into his saddlebags, but had not suspected he had bought strong spirits. "What is it?" she asked, eyeing the flask dubiously.

  "Oil of belladonna," he said grittily. "I positively yearn to be a widower!"

  She gave him a withering glance and raised the flask. To her dismay, her hand shook and she could not stop it. Redmond muttered something under his breath and stamped off, leading the horses towards a river that joined the sea a short distance ahead. He went down a gradual slope and disappeared from sight under a narrow, rock bridge.

  Charity took a swallow from the flask, spluttered and choked, her eyes watering. She supposed he must have given her some very strong wine, for it burnt down her throat. She was horrified upon looking up to see an open landau passing by, the two middle-aged couples seated inside viewing her with patent horror. Scarlet, she thrust the flask behind her, but the two quizzing glasses that were levelled at her positively shone censure, and she heard one of the ladies say a shocked, "Poor creature! A victim of Demon Rum a
t her age!''

  The carriage slowed. For a terrible moment she fancied she was about to be saved—then, to her intense relief, they abandoned her and drove on. Shattered, she took another sip of the Demon Rum, and within a minute or two she felt warmer and restored to a surprising degree. She stoppered the flask, settled back against the tree and closed her eyes for a moment.

  She awoke to a heavenly smell, and blinking, saw a sandwich hovering an inch from her nose. A king among sandwiches, with two great slabs of freshly baked bread enclosing thick slices of Cheddar cheese bright with mustard. "Oh," she gasped, accepting this incomparable gift joyfully. She sank her teeth into it, chewed, and uttered a faint moan of pleasure.

  Redmond tossed a bulky parcel to the turf between them and sat down rather stiffly. He ignored her indistinct thanks as he unfolded another sandwich and grunted, "Why could you not have said you were so tired and hungry? I often forget to eat, but I'm not a monster."

  "I have slowed you too much already,'' she said, restraining her appetite so as to look at him over a protruding wedge of cheese. She thought she saw approval come into his eyes and said hopefully, "I am going on much better than yesterday, do you not think?"

  "You are a positive Amazon," he sneered, but his eyes fell before her level stare and he bit rather savagely into his own little feast.

  After a moment, she asked, "Where did you get this?"

  "Village. Half a mile inland."

  "Good heavens! You left me here? All alone?"

  "I checked the road in both directions and saw only one landau that looked much too respectable to cause me concern. Besides, you were snoring like—"

  "I do not snore!"

  His eyes glinted at her. He said nothing, but that one dark brow lifted provocatively. However, she wondered, did he do that? She turned away and struggled single-mindedly to master the trick.

  "Ma'am?" Redmond was peering at her. He looked frightened and, perversely, likeable. "Not having a seizure, are you?" he asked uneasily.