And as his eyes followed after Violet re-entering the inn, he vowed to do just that.
7
Owen looked around him at the meadow that was now filled with people. There were some of the villagers who had volunteered to be part of his militia, as it were, and then the Tavners family, who he would be training, though Elias Tavners seemed fairly sure of his own skill and ability to prepare the rest of his family.
As Owen watched him, however, he had his doubts.
“And this, Iris, is a pistol,” Tavners said, though he then fumbled with the weapon as he attempted to determine just how it would fire. Owen sighed. Iris and Daisy’s husbands were with the rest of the men, attempting to train them on the protocol if the enemy was spotted. The men had been out all morning, though the family had just arrived.
The problem was, they were unsure if Comtois would have returned to French soil to gather troops by boat, or if he had stayed in England and would be approaching over land. Tavners had told Owen that he would tour him around the outskirts of the town following the training session to determine the best lookout points. Owen had scouted the area quite often himself, but perhaps Tavners would have additional sites he had missed.
Owen returned to his newly formed army.
“Thank you, everyone, for your attention today. Southwold is in good hands with the likes of you, and soon enough we will be prepared for whatever comes our way. We will reconvene tomorrow to continue.”
He turned toward the Tavners family now and took a deep breath. He was about to walk over to them when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to find Daisy’s husband, the Duke of Greenwich, beside him, looking at the family beyond.
“I think we should take this one-on-one,” he said. “Best to allow Elias to think he’s in charge. Westwood and I will help with our wives, leave Tavners to his own, and you can train Violet.”
Suddenly Owen was not quite as hesitant about the task before him.
“Very well,” he agreed. “Lead on.”
Greenwich explained the plan to Tavners, who concurred. Owen walked over to Violet, who was looking at the knife and pistol in front of her with some trepidation.
“I’m assuming you have never fired a pistol before,” he said with a bit of a smile, but she didn’t see it as she was preoccupied with the instruments before her.
“I have not,” she confirmed.
“Very well,” he said. “Let us remedy that, shall we?”
He picked up the holster pistol, showed her how to load it, aim it, and pull the trigger. He aimed at the straw pallet targets he had set up earlier.
“Then it is simply a matter of pulling the trigger. It will be a moment until it actually fires.”
She nodded.
“The only thing is…” she began.
“Yes?”
“What if I do not want to shoot anything? Do not misunderstand me, I understand how important it is to defend ourselves if it came to that, but I cannot imagine what it must be like to… to kill someone.” Her eyes widened as though she was just reaching an understanding. “Have you?”
He could have pretended not to understand her meaning, but he chose instead to answer her.
“I have,” he said with a nod.
“Do you not feel…” She trailed off, as though unable to even speak of what it must be like.
“Remorse? Of course I do. But if it is a matter of my own life or the life of a friend and that of an enemy… well, it makes the decision easier. Though still not a simple choice.”
She nodded, contemplation upon her face.
“I understand that. I still, however, do not think I could do such a thing.”
“Well, just in case,” he said, putting the gun into her hand, “It’s best you try.”
They heard a shout of glee and looked over to see that Iris had connected with the target. That put a bit of fire in Violet’s eye as she stepped up to shoot at the target beside her sister’s.
She followed Owen’s instructions, took aim, and pulled the trigger, widely missing the target in front of her.
“That’s all right,” he said. “Try again.”
She lined up once more, and he saw that this shot would likely follow the last. He stood behind her, crouching down slightly so he had the same vantage point, and then placed one arm on hers, gently pushing it down so that she had better aim.
“See?” he said, and she nodded. When she did, the scent of cherry blossoms floated up into his nostrils, and he closed his eyes for a moment as he inhaled her sweet scent. Unlike the horrors of war he had seen so often as of late, this woman was a reminder of all that was good in the world. For a moment, Owen pictured her within his own home, standing at the door looking out to greet him, exuberant when he returned to her from wherever he had recently been posted.
But then he heard the bang of a nearby pistol, and he was reminded of what his world currently was. It was war, death, fighting. She should be as far removed from it as possible.
He wished she was now.
“Can I fire?” she asked softly, and he was brought back to the present.
“Yes,” he said, stepping back from her. “Yes, of course.”
She did so, her bullet hitting the very bottom of the target — but hitting it nonetheless.
“I did it!” she exclaimed, much more subdued than her sister but still, with excitement. Owen grinned.
“That you did,” he said. “Impressive marksmanship.”
She turned to him, her face sparkling with glee, but then their eyes met and suddenly her smile somewhat dimmed. But it wasn’t as though she was upset. No… she bit her lip and her eyes darkened, and when she looked up at him, gone was the sweet, innocent woman and in her place was someone much more… seductive. Owen swallowed hard. He leaned in toward her, his only focus those soft pink lips, which he longed to taste.
And then there was another report from a gun, and they both jumped backward, remembering where they were, and that they were not alone.
She turned around suddenly, facing the target again, and it now felt as though he had no place for his hands, no idea what to do with himself.
“Best continue on,” he finally said, and she nodded, leaving Owen to determine that perhaps it was time to find Elias.
“Tavners,” he greeted the man, who looked positively exhausted as he attempted to show his wife the workings of the pistol in her hand. The way she was waving it around caused Owen to take a step backward so that if the thing were to go off he would be out of the line of fire. “Are you ready for our tour?”
“Tour?”
“We were going to go scout locations,” Owen reminded him, and the man slapped a hand against his forehead.
“Ah, that’s right!” he exclaimed. “The thing is, with all of this movement, my back has begun to ache something fierce.”
He placed a hand on it as though it had just flared up.
“Another time?” Tavners asked, and Owen shrugged.
“Sure.”
He would just have to go searching for himself.
“Perhaps I can help?’
They both turned to see Violet standing there, looking hesitant and unsure of herself, but Owen seized upon her offer. He would prefer to have Violet as a guide over her father any day.
“Wonderful,” he said before Tavners could say anything. He offered his arm. “Shall we go?”
* * *
What had she just done?
Violet had overheard Owen speaking with her father, and suddenly the prospect of spending an afternoon alone with him was more enticing than she could bear. The words had flown out, and now… now she was regretting she had ever opened her mouth. For after that moment between her and Owen a few minutes ago, what would happen when they were truly alone?
The thought filled her with trembling.
Oh, how she sometimes wished she could be like Iris, eagerly taking advantage of such situations when they came her way. Iris would know what to say, how to handle h
erself.
Perhaps, Violet thought, she could attempt to take on the personality of a character from one of her books. She would be witty and laugh when it was appropriate, flirt outrageously, and convince the man to fall in love with her.
But was that what she wanted? She had thought she had desired such a thing with the man who had turned out to be a French spy. Was Owen any better? For he was not going to be staying here at the inn forever, and his only interest in her seemed to be in protecting her.
It was, however, too late to back out of her promise now. Violet swallowed her fear and placed what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face as she looked up at him.
“Yes,” she said as decisively as she could. “We shall.”
8
“If nothing else, today will be a good test of your newly acquired skills on horseback,” Owen said, and Violet stopped, turning to him.
“On horseback?” she asked, immediately realizing that she sounded ridiculous. Of course, they would go on horseback. They could hardly tour around the town and its vantage points on foot.
“Yes,” he said, and if Violet wasn’t mistaken, she thought one corner of his mouth was beginning to curl beneath his beard. “Is that not where we were headed — to the stable?”
“Of course,” she said, attempting to cover her surprise.
“It will be a good opportunity for me to allow Merlin to stretch his legs,” Owen continued, and Violet simply nodded. For it was as she suspected. When she exited the stable and clumsily mounted Sally, she looked over at Owen on his magnificent horse. She must look utterly ridiculous next to him. They hardly made a fitting pair. Owen didn’t seem to think anything of it, however, as he reined in his horse next to her.
“Well,” he said, “where to first?”
Violet shook the cobwebs from her mind as she determined a plan for them for the next hour or so and then recited it to Owen, who seemed to agree with her. She wondered that he hadn’t already scouted the area — was that not his purpose here? But if he wanted a local’s point of view, then she was happy to contribute. She first led him to the various high points on the cliffs where one could see out over the water.
They sat atop their horses, staring out over the bay. The gentle breeze brushed against Violet’s cheek, and she pushed her bonnet back to hang behind her neck as she closed her eyes to feel the sun upon her face and the wind in her hair.
“I do hope Southwold does not become a place of battle,” she said softly, hardly realizing at first that she had spoken the thought aloud. “It is such a peaceful town, I would hate for violence to fall upon it again.”
“Again?” Owen questioned, and Violet nodded.
“Over one hundred years ago — in May of 1672 — there was a major battle upon these waters below us.”
“Ah, yes, I believe I read of such. Against the Dutch, was it not?”
“It was,” she said, smiling at him, pleased he knew of some of the town’s history. “The English and French were actually fighting together at that point in time. The English fleet was in Southwold on a sort of leave — most of their time was spent within the alehouses. A French frigate arrived in the wee hours of the night to warn that the Dutch Fleet had been sighted and would be upon them shortly. In a few hours, the English ships were at sea, commanded by the Duke of York and the Earl of Sandwich. The French, as it were, sailed away, leaving the English to fend for themselves.” She paused in her tale to smile wryly at that.
“There were seventy-one English ships to the Dutch’s sixty-one. The battle was fairly even and raged through the day. People gathered on these very cliffs to watch the battle, but little could be seen for the ships were ten miles from land. Villagers were told to remain, in case the Dutch made it ashore and they would have to fight. Thankfully, it never came to pass — as hopefully will happen at this particular time as well.”
“Who won the battle?”
“The English say they did. Though each side lost two ships and about 2000 men. It is said bodies washed ashore for days — including the Earl of Sandwich’s.”
She winced at the thought. “The people of Southwold had to care for over 800 injured sailors.”
“You know much of this town’s history,” Owen acknowledged, and Violet was suddenly embarrassed by how she had droned on about the battle.
“I suppose I do,” she said with a shrug. “I love this town and I love reading about history, so I suppose it has stayed in my mind. Anyway, if you are going to see anything, it would be from here. You do not think the French would actually sail upon us here, do you? Just for our little inn and a few men?”
“I doubt it,” he said. “I do not think the French will bother much with us if I am being honest. Lord Westwood may hold some information, but he likely would have shared it by now if that was the case. No, my guess is that, if anything, Comtois himself may arrive here for personal vengeance. Perhaps we best concentrate farther inland now.”
“Very well,” she said, turning the horse and leading him toward the wooded area near the Southwold road.
“You’re riding well,” he said, and Violet laughed softly.
“We are simply walking,” she said. “That does not require much skill.”
“You should be proud of your abilities,” Owen said, “For it means I did my job as a teacher.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t question any of your skills or accomplishments,” Violet said shyly, and Owen chuckled.
“You do not know me well, then.”
“I suppose I don’t,” Violet said, and they lapsed into silence for a moment, as all she could think about was the fact that she would like to.
She slowed Sally as they approached the main road.
“This, of course, is where most enter Southwold if coming by land,” she said. “However, there is another path — one that is not often used, and which a carriage could never fit through. A man on horseback, however, likely could.”
Owen’s eyes lit up. “I didn’t know about this.”
She nodded. “Most wouldn’t, unless one is from here.”
“Ernest Abernathy is.”
Violet nodded. Ernest was the son of the apothecary and had become involved in the nefarious plans of Comtois for revenge against Lord Westwood.
“He could have told Comtois of the path, though hopefully he never thought to do so. We can ride the horses around to find it, or we can walk and lead them through the woods to get there more quickly.”
“Very well,” Owen said. “Show me the way.”
They dismounted, and Violet did her best to remember the most direct route to the path. It had been some years since she had taken this way, which they sometimes used as a shortcut to get in and out of town.
She pushed tree branches aside as she walked, holding them back to allow Sally through as well as Owen leading Merlin behind her. She heard him mutter as she accidentally let one go and it slapped him in the face.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“Think nothing of it,” he said with a shake of his head as they continued on.
“Here it is!” she exclaimed when she saw the packed ground in front of her. It wasn’t much but tamped-down grass that twisted around the trees in the wood, but it would lead someone into town if nothing else.
Violet turned to continue down the path until they reached the entrance where it emerged to join with the main road itself.
“This is where it begins,” she said, and Owen nodded.
“Perfect,” he said, his smile of pleasure warming her through. “I shall station one of the men here to keep watch.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning to him, startled to find that he was just behind her. She took the slightest step back but bumped into Sally.
“I deserve no thanks,” he said, his brow furrowing. “We brought this upon you. Southwold would not be threatened if it wasn’t for the fact that you were housing former soldiers.”
“Which my father more than welcomed,” she reminded him.
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“That, I do not completely understand,” Owen said with a frown. “Considering he had four daughters at home.”
“He loved the idea of having the opportunity to converse with soldiers once more,” Violet said. “And then there is his compensation from the army. My father… enjoys the odd game of chance that typically does not end well for him.”
“I see,” Owen said, and Violet could tell that he now understood her father’s motives far better. “I am sorry to hear it.”
“We are getting by now, at least,” she said, attempting nonchalance. “And we strongly discourage him from gambling. My new brothers-in-law have done better at keeping him in line. Which is something else — had we not housed the soldiers, my sisters would never have found their husbands.”
“They do all seem happy,” Owen noted. “That is a rare occurrence, I have found.”
“This is true,” Violet said with a smile, as she truly was pleased for her sisters.
“You deserve happiness, yourself, Violet,” Owen said, tilting his head ever so slightly as he contemplated her. “Will you be happy, remaining here with the new owner of the inn?”
If only he knew of her father’s plans.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I try not to hold too high a hope for whatever the future might hold for me, be it at the inn or… somewhere else.”
“Where else would you like to go?” he asked, scrutinizing her more closely. Violet longed to say that she had a penchant to be with him, to see where he might take her, but how could she do so when he might laugh at such an idea, or, even worse, look upon her solely with pity?
She bit her lip. “I suppose I would like to go see some of the places that I have visited through the pages of my books.”
“Is that all?”
“What do you mean?”
“Books offer more than travel. They contain relationships, myriad emotions, adventure, and… love.”
Violet swallowed hard at the intense look within his eyes, unsure of what to read into his words.
“They do,” she said, her voice just over a whisper, and Owen reached out slowly, lifting a hand to her face and stroking her cheek with his roughened fingers, sending chills through her body.
A Viscount for Violet: The Blooming Brides Book 4 Page 5