by Gina Black
She swallowed, but did not look away.
His lips hovered near hers. His eyes taunted her, daring her to move, to fight back, to protest.
But she didn’t. Finch would enjoy her struggle too much.
He turned her face and kissed her on the cheek. “Good chaste Katherine, ’twill not be long before you do what I say in all things.”
As panic surged through her, she wrenched her skirt, ripping the fine wool off the thorny branch.
Finch’s cold blue eyes raked over her.
“I am not yet your wife.” Katherine took a step back. She turned away. Almost tripping over Montford, she scooped up the kitten and hurried from the garden. She must leave this night, before she could say the spousals that would legally bind her to Finch.
She would never be his wife.
* * *
Nicholas examined the cottage wall by the wavering light of a candle. With surprise, he saw his initials—all five of them—just as he’d carved them seventeen years ago in crude block letters. He had wanted to leave a part of himself behind before departing for Holland and had spent the better part of a week chipping them into the stone.
So long ago.
Had that sad young boy really been he? Or had it been a different Nicholas still reeling from the death of his mother, the child who believed his father’s promise that they would be back soon. He hadn’t known that in leaving Ashfield, his childhood was over.
He let out a long breath as he moved the candle lower. In the flickering light another set of initials appeared. Not carved as deeply as his, but with more style. K A W, no doubt for Katherine Welles. But what did the A stand for?
Angel?
For that’s what she’d been. Now that the fog and sweats had diminished, along with the terrible pounding in his head, he knew she had saved his life.
As far as he could tell, he’d been here a week, asleep for the most part. He needed to get back to the inn where he’d left Henry suffering from a toothache, telling the man he’d be gone a few short hours, and only to reconnoiter, not to strike. His old friend would be beside himself with worry.
That disastrous evening had placed him closer to achieving his goal of reclaiming Ashfield, the reason he had returned to England. With his ancestral estate nearby, and its heiress nursing him back to health, it seemed there ought to be a myriad of opportunities open to him. But he had not yet come up with one, except abduction. And that seemed so…well, old-fashioned.
“Mr. Eddington?”
Nicholas blew out the candle and turned to see Katherine come through the door. Winded and red-cheeked, her eyes sparkled, but her brow was furrowed.
“They’ve put a price on your head,” she exclaimed. “Five gold sovereigns, I’ve just heard.”
Maybe he could make her smile. “My…head?” He lifted his good hand to that part of his body. “’Tis not so much money. Surely ’tis worth more than that?”
She looked at him as if he’d suddenly gone daft.
He grinned. “At least it is worth much more to me.”
She frowned. “’Tis not a jest. The money is enough to make your capture appealing to many.”
“To you Mistress Welles?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you informed anyone of my presence?”
“Of course not,” she repeated, snapping the words out this time.
“Then there should be none who know where I am.”
“They will look for you in earnest now. You can no longer stay here. ‘Tisn’t safe. Even those who are afraid of Witches’ Rock would come here for such a reward.”
Nicholas nodded. She was right. He could tarry no longer. Walking to the doorway, he looked outside. The sky was a cloudless blue. The late fall sun shone weekly on the dry ground.
“You are right. ’Tis time for me to go.”
“Indeed you must.” She spoke with surprising vehemence. “But are you well enough?” She added almost timidly. “I think your arm must pain you sorely.”
“My arm is much recovered.” He raised it to show her, concealing a grimace behind a tight smile. “And my head—perhaps due to the increased value—works better as well.” He shook it gently from side to side. “I must thank you for caring for me as you have, and for saving my life. No doubt at great risk to yourself.”
“Nay there was scant risk, only that I might not succeed.”
Had his confident angel thought she might fail? That was hard to imagine. Then again, she did not seem the type to take on adventure, or put herself at risk. Yet she had done so.
She stood quietly for a long moment as if coming to a decision. Then, in a jerky motion, she reached inside her cloak and pulled out a small bundle. “You must be hungry and I have brought your dinner.”
“’Tis a fine day. I would much prefer to eat out-of-doors. Stay with me, mistress. Your good company will improve my appetite.”
“It is not safe for you to be abroad in plain sight,” Katherine protested.
Nicholas smiled. “If anyone should come upon us, we will say I am your…cousin, just arrived. They will have no reason to doubt you say the truth.”
Katherine shook her head. “I do not tell tales well.”
“Then, should we be discovered, you must let me do the talking.”
Katherine frowned, but then nodded. He took her elbow with the hand of his good arm, and they left the cottage. She led him the short distance to a grassy area fringed by oak trees near a stream. It was a lovely spot he’d not seen for many years, reminding him, again, of how much he’d missed his home.
She opened out the bundle onto the ground then unwrapped a plain meal of brown bread and cheese. “My apologies for the simplicity of the fare.”
“I thank you for it.”
She nodded, but he could see she paid him little mind.
They sat across from each other, the cloth in-between. Nicholas sprawled his long legs out to the side, while she curled up more like a cat.
He bit heartily into the cheese. “Will you join me?” He ripped the bread in half and held out a piece to her.
She pulled off a chunk and put the rest on the cloth.
Nicholas watched her fidget while he ate. She chewed as if unaware she was eating. Before long, she was tearing off bits of the bread and tossing them toward the trees, where some lucky squirrel would come along and find them. He wondered what was on her mind, but let her bide as he ate, eyeing her openly as he chewed.
In the light of day he could see that the hair peeping out of her white cap was the color of honey, and not dark as he had thought. What would she look like with it flowing free?
As always, she wore black. In the bright sunlight, he could see how little it became her. Her creamy skin should be set against peach, deep blue or dark green. Black made her look stern. Simply cut and unadorned, the dress ought to have been worn by a widowed grandmother, not a young woman.
How old was she? He’d made inquiries about her family when he was in London, but had found little information about her. She was unmarried and heiress to the estate since the death of her brother, Edward, in an accident of some sort. Her mother had died recently. Perhaps that was the reason for the unrelieved black. That, and because she was a Puritan.
Of Gerald Welles, he’d learned more. An ambitious man, he had benefited under Cromwell’s protectorate. His financial support had been rewarded with Ashfield, but his dreams of nobility had not been fulfilled. Since the return of the monarchy, he had kept mainly to the country. Perhaps, like others of his ilk, he waited for his Puritan-cropped hair to grow to a fashionable length.
Nicholas scowled and bit hard on the bread.
Katherine looked up and caught his eyes on her. “I was wondering where you will go,” she said.
“I had not thought much on it,” he lied.
Her eyes looked the most changed in daylight. The sun revealed flecks of gold, yellow, and green. The colors of autumn.
“Oh.” She chewed another bite o
f the bread then looked straight at him. “I was hoping…”
“Yes?” he prodded when she did not continue. Clearly, his angel had something on her mind.
“It seemed to me, when I thought on it, you might not be returning to your life of crime straight away, until you are completely recovered that is. But…if you will be going toward London to meet up with your gang…well then I would be most obliged if you would take me with you.” The last part came out all in a rush.
Nicholas almost choked on the bread as he swallowed it. Would it be so easy then? He need not lift a finger or even make a plan? He carefully drew his face into a look of thoughtfulness, trying valiantly to suppress the grin that threatened to appear.
“You have made an interesting request,” he said, his expression under rigid control. “And why would you be going to London?”
A flash of apprehension lit her eyes, and he guessed she was deciding what to tell him.
“My father has resolved I am to marry.”
“You are not over young for it.”
“Yes.” Katherine reacted to his bluntness with no vanity. “I have been in mourning this past fifteen-month. First my brother Edward, and then my dear mother. Now my father says ’tis time, he is willing to wait no longer, and he has made a match with our neighbor, Richard Finch, the man who shot you.” She let out a deep sigh.
Nicholas turned away before she could see the pity he knew to be in his eyes. It would be a grave misfortune for his serious caretaker to marry that cold-hearted bastard. He wouldn’t teach her how to laugh. More likely, his petty cruelties would make her more serious, even dour.
She must have taken his lack of response to mean he did not approve her request, because he turned back to see her frowning.
“I shall not marry him. I will get to London, somehow.” She looked away. “I had just thought you might do me this favor.”
“But of course I will, mistress,” he smiled—a gentle curve of the lips instead of the grin that still threatened. “It seems I owe this neighbor of yours a favor as well.” He rubbed his bandaged arm. “Since the Raven is mightier than the Finch, I shall aid you on your flight.” He popped the last bit of cheese into his mouth. “What are your intentions once in London?”
“I shall stay with my cousin, Alicia Pemberton. She has over many children to manage on her own, and I will be glad to help her.”
Nicholas brushed crumbs from the front of his shirt. “When shall we leave?”
She caught his eye, a tentative quick look for reassurance, and he nodded.
“Tonight?” she said, visibly relaxing. “’Twould be best for me to be gone before the morrow. And, ready or not, ‘twould be best for you to be gone even now. I vow I will not be any trouble. I will continue to care for your injuries and help in other ways as I can.”
Nicholas repressed a smile. If anyone needed help getting to London, it would be she, not he. Yet, if it made her more willing to travel with him, so much the better. “I am feeling quite recovered from this fine sunshine. With your good company, I shall not worry my health will suddenly fail. What say you, shall we leave at midnight?”
Katherine actually smiled. Not a big smile—nothing close to a grin—but the corners of her mouth turned up and the smallest twinkle flashed in her eyes. “If you truly think you are well enough?”
Nicholas nodded.
“Know you where Ashfield is?” She gathered the cloth into a bundle and stood up brushing small bits of debris from her skirt.
He nodded again, rising to his feet.
“Meet me at the stove-house. ’Tis in the back garden, not far from the stables. I shall be ready.”
“I do hope, mistress, you will be discreet. It is best that no one know of our plans unless you wish us discovered.”
“I assure you, no one could wish to be discovered less than I.” She looked at him seriously, and then cast her eyes downward. “There is just one concern I must discuss with you.”
“Yes?”
“’Tis just that… I mean… You would not…?”
He could see her discomfort as she forced the words out.
“That is, while we are on the road…could you not…?” She toyed with the collar of her dress. “I mean I would like to get to London straight away, and if we have to stop while you hold up coaches…well…”
Comprehension finally dawned on Nicholas. “Do not fear, mistress,” he raised her chin with a forefinger until she looked straight into his eyes. “For now, at least, my outlaw days are behind me. And I have business to attend in London that I have avoided overlong.”
He could see it was not her collar she fingered, but a piece of green ribbon, its color incongruously bright against her black dress. It was just such a ribbon as women used to hold a keepsake from a lover. He should know; he’d given several away himself.
Could he have misjudged her completely? Might this drab Puritan miss be traveling to London to meet a lover and not a cousin?
“What is this?” he teased. “A bit of bright underplummage? Is this sparrow really a canary in disguise?”
He let his hand trail down her neck, and gave the ribbon a tug. She gasped as he pulled it out of her bodice.
Just as he suspected, there was something attached, but it was not what he had expected. Nicholas stared at the familiar old Chinese coin, warm in his hand.
My lucky piece.
Katherine deftly took it from his grasp and tucked it back into her dress. Fingers hovering protectively at the base of her throat, she eyed him warily as she moved away from him.
Nicholas cursed himself for treating her like one of the court ladies instead of a Puritan miss, and tried to make up for it with his fullest and most charming smile. “I was not going to steal it.”
“’Tisn’t proper for you to be so free with my person.”
“And a charming person it is too,” he made a courtly bow and straightened. “How did you come by such an item?”
“I found it in the cottage with other bits and pieces. Why do you ask?”
“It is from China. I am surprised to see it here. ’Tis an odd trinket for a Puritan lass.”
“Puritan?” Her mouth took a firm line. “You say I am a Puritan because I look like one. What you truly see is an obedient daughter. But I will not be one for much longer.” She sighed and looked towards the stream. A bird had discovered the bits of bread.
“Just who may you be, Mr. Eddington?”
“Naught but a simple outlaw.”
“I think there is nothing simple about you. Are you a thief? No, I do not think so. You are an odd highwayman to be sure, for, by all accounts, you leave items of true value with their owners. Are you a noble, or a commoner? Perhaps one of the gentry? Are you English-born? There is something decidedly foreign about you. Be you Catholic or Protestant?”
Nicholas gave a wry smile. “If you must know, I was raised on the Book of Common Prayer, but I do not consider myself a religious man.”
“And what of your gang? Why did they leave you to die and not return for you, or bring aid?”
“There is a simple answer to that. I have no gang.”
Katherine blinked. “But I had heard—“
“One should not always believe what one is told.”
* * *
Later, several hours after Katherine had left, Nicholas stood in the doorway of the cottage and watched the stars twinkle in the night sky. He named for himself the various constellations and reflected on what had happened.
When he’d come back to England, he’d been uncertain of what he really wanted. Of course, he had promised his father he would get Ashfield back—a promise he meant to keep. But as to whether he really wanted it, that was a question to which he had no answer.
Since arriving on England’s shores, his goal had become quite clear. Nicholas tightened his fingers on the doorframe sending a shock of pain to his wounded arm.
He craved revenge.
Revenge for his father’s impoverishe
d and ignominious death in Holland. Revenge for the loneliness of growing up on his own in foreign lands. Revenge against those who had changed their clothing, religion, and loyalty with the tides of politics, and had therefore lost nothing.
He rubbed the muscles on his arm below the bandage. In exacting his revenge, he’d taken the coats from those turncoats, and the rest of their clothing as well. He’d taken their dignity and gifted them with a fine humiliation, at least for the nonce. And he’d had a good laugh.
But that wasn’t enough. His blood still ran hot with the need for vengeance. He needed a better target. Bigger and more appropriate. More satisfying. With Cromwell dead and declared a traitor, he’d have to find a man who’d thought he could get away with such treachery.
Someone like Gerald Welles. After all, Welles was in possession of Ashfield.
But not for long. Nicholas scowled.
Tonight he’d be on his way to London, traveling with the man’s daughter. Nicholas would have in his grasp the means to reclaim his patrimony. Plus, he’d be snatching Katherine and the estate from the clutches of his childhood enemy, Finch. A fine revenge, indeed. And a highly satisfying turn of events.
Better yet, he hadn’t had to lift a finger to set this in motion.
Nicholas’s lips pulled into a tight smile. Fate. Kismet. He’d been introduced to the concept during his time in the East. Yes, fate must be providing him with the means to achieve his goal. Just as it had to be a sign that Katherine A. Welles, ministering angel and the instrument of his retribution, wore his old lucky piece around her neck.
There was no question his luck had changed the moment he met her.
CHAPTER FOUR
“KATHERINE?”
Nicholas’s hushed voice echoed loudly in the night. He’d come early so he could take a good look at his old home. In the scant illumination of the crescent moon, he could see little had changed, though it seemed so much smaller and less grand than the Ashfield of his memory.
Then he saw her. In her dark hooded cloak, she’d blended in with the blackness. As she emerged from the shadows and walked toward him, the moon glinted off her forehead. She carried two bundles and cradled something in her arms.