Sir Michael's Mayhem

by Susan M. Baganz

He slipped into the basement into a tunnel but didn’t exit. He remained below for several hours in the dark, resting. Later, he sneaked back into a sleeping house and out the side door to slink behind the trees. What kind of trap had his former servant set for him? He debated back-tracking and finding another route to the coast or facing the enemy and ending this once and for all. He leaned against a tall tree in the woods, melting into the darkness as he prayed for wisdom. He had read that the Bible was a light to his path, but would God really show the way for him to take? He smiled. The God he’d been reading about was perfectly capable of doing that.

  Michael waited in the dark for well over an hour. No light appeared, but soon he heard the rustling of leaves. Tristan never mastered stealth which was one reason Michael often preferred to leave him behind at a base camp during missions. It also meant that as much as the Fox knew about the Cat, he didn’t know everything. Michael grabbed the pistol out of his coat, it was primed and ready. He held a knife in his other hand. While not as skilled as Mouse, he was good with a short sword in close battle. He didn’t doubt his ability to best his foe.

  Silently thanking God for showing him his path, and relieved that soon, one way or another this challenge would be over, he moved around to come up behind the Fox.

  “We didn’t leave you dead enough the first time. A mistake I don’t intend to repeat,” Cat spoke with a purr.

  Fox hissed, “I heal fast. You and Mouse escaped me and the Black Diamond, but it ends here. Tonight.”

  “I agree. It ends now. But who will be the victor—you who serve the evil demon Black Diamond, or me who serves Jesus Christ and the King of England?”

  “King? That mad-man? Or his ludicrous excuse for a son? And Jesus? Since when have you ever needed God?” Tristan sneered.

  “I’ve always needed Him, but only recently bent my knee to Him as my Sovereign. I fight you in the name of Jesus, and King George.”

  “Noble words, but your long and illustrious career is destined to end tonight.” Tristan raised his right arm with a pistol primed and pointed across the expanse, aiming for Michael.

  “Don’t you want to do this like civilized gentleman and fight hand to hand?”

  “Too much time has been lost. You. Die. Now.” With a flash in the dark night the gun exploded and the bullet found a home in Michael’s chest. His own gun simultaneously fired. Both men fell to the ground and there was silence.

  ~*~

  The sounds of the forest resumed. An owl hooted a call to her mate and an eager response was given. Michael flickered open his eyes, not sure whether to expect to see God before him, or to still be in the black of the woods. Pain throbbed in his chest and he moved his hand to the spot. There was no blood. He reached inside his coat and vest to make doubly sure. Again no blood. The clouds cleared and moonlight spilled down through the tree branches. Michael pulled out his small book. The bullet had lodged there but had gone no further. Michael pried the bullet out and returned the book to his pocket, slipping into the blackness and making his way around to where Fox lay still on the ground. He held his gun as he went, slowly watching the body. He came up to the head and saw no movement. Kneeling by Tristan’s side he felt for the pulse. There was none. He checked for the wound and his aim had been true. Blood seeped into the ground.

  Michael took Tristan’s hat and placed it over the man’s face. “May God have mercy on you, Tristan.” With that, the Cat slinked away into the darkness, resuming his journey home.

  ~*~

  Michael had never been fond of water. A dip in a pond was fine, but boating across the channel in a smuggler’s skiff was something else entirely. The night was dark and overcast, perfect for stealth but difficult for navigating choppy waters. Michael’s stomach did flip flops. It had been a few years since he cast up his accounts due to mal de mar but tonight he was coming close to revisiting that again. He lay low in the bottom of the boat, covered himself up with a tarp, and tried to pray away his sickness. The need to lean overboard passed.

  He remembered the story of Jesus sleeping in such a boat through a storm and how scared the disciples had been. Jesus rebuked them for their lack of faith. As lightning illuminated the sky and thunder reverberated around them, Michael found a strange sense of peace.

  He wondered if Mouse even realized he had requested that Marcus post the banns in church for his marriage to her. That could throw off the enemy. He didn’t want to wait to claim her as his wife, and she deserved to be married in the church. With his newfound faith, he was more than ready to commit himself to this woman before God. He needed to make landfall first.

  A huge wave threw the boat high into the air and it came crashing down. The men inside screamed in fright as they were plunged into the icy waters along with shattered planks of wood. Bootleg brandy sank to the bottom.

  Michael was a strong swimmer, but he wasn’t sure right now which direction was the shore. He managed to hold onto a plank. He somehow removed his boots and his outer coat which restricted too much movement. He hung on through the waves that crashed over him. He fought to stay afloat. Some of the other men had not been so fortunate. Michael prayed and waited with his eyes wide open. Another flash of lightning lit up the landscape and whether it was England or France at this point, Michael didn’t care. He began to kick with all his might to get there.

  Michael was wet, cold, and exhausted when he finally crawled up on rocks on the shoreline. His hands and feet were numb and he wanted to curl up into a ball and sleep. The storm continued to rage and a loud clap of thunder shook the ground as light flashed at the same time. Michael discovered a small fishing shanty, pulled himself upright, and stumbled to the shelter.

  The place was deserted but there was kindling for a fire and a flint. Michael struggled to get the fire started with his shivering and numb fingers. Finally, a blaze roared in the hearth and Michael warmed himself, stripping off layers of clothing and wrapping himself in a rough homespun wool. He wandered around the tiny shack. He found hard tack, a bag of nuts, and some coffee. He got a kettle of water over the fire. Walking to the table he discovered a London newspaper from several weeks ago. Michael grinned. England had not given a gracious welcome, but he was here.

  Michael sipped the bitter coffee, and warmth seeped deep inside of him. He grabbed a few more rough-hewn blankets, put more wood on the fire, and settled down to sleep.

  ~*~

  The wind rattled the fisherman’s hut and the room was cold even as dawn crept in the dingy windows. Michael’s clothes remained damp from his swim, but he didn’t have much choice, he needed to wear them. He stoked the fire and chewed on another piece of salty tack while warming up some water for a cup of coffee. He glanced at his bare feet, blistered and raw, and now with no shoes, his journey home would be even more painful. When he was finished with his drink and sufficiently warmed, he left the shack and headed north.

  He walked only a few miles when he came upon a small cottage. He went to the door and knocked.

  A young woman answered, neatly dressed in homespun cloth. She had two little ones at her skirt, peeking up at him with wide eyes.

  “Ma’am. I apologize for bothering you. The boat I was aboard last night was destroyed in a squall. I managed to make it to shore and found shelter, but am in desperate need of some dry clothes and a pair of boots. I am willing to pay for them.”

  “Are you a smuggler or French?”

  “Neither, my name is Sir Michael Tidley. I returned from France but it was in service to our King that I even ventured there.” He held out some coin to the woman.

  “You could use a shave and haircut too.” Turning back into the cottage she yelled, “Harry, we have company!” She opened the door wider and motioned for Michael to enter.

  “Come to the kitchen and sit by the fire while I get you something to eat.” The children scampered off and Michael followed her across polished floors to a tidy kitchen with a large wood table. She motioned to a chair and he sat. A tall, burly man entered, h
is blond hair brushed off his face and tied in a que at the back. His wife whispered in his ear and he came forward.

  Smiling the man held out his hand. “I’m Harry Witt. Welcome to our home.” He glanced at Michael and laughed. “I’m not sure that any of my clothes would fit you. But my son, he is your size, tall for his age. Why don’t you follow me while the missus gets breakfast ready, and we will find something for you to wear.”

  “I’d be much obliged,” Michael said as he rose to followed Harry into the hall and up the staircase to the second floor and down another corridor. Knocking on a door, a smaller version of his host answered.

  “Davey, this man is in need of some clothing. I think he is about your size, can we see what we might spare to help out a stranger?”

  “Yes, Father.” Turning toward Michael he said, “Won’t you come in?”

  Both men entered the generous bedroom and followed the boy to the wardrobe. In short order, Michael was attired from head to toe in dry, clean clothes. Even a freshly starched cravat. The clothing was still a bit more generous in width than his own lean frame, but at least they were the correct length. The boots were a little big for him. An extra pair of stockings helped make up the difference.

  “I appreciate your generosity,” Michael said, smiling at his host and son.

  “It is our pleasure to assist you. Now come. My Clara has prepared us a meal that will help for the journey you have ahead of you.”

  They returned to the kitchen and sat. Davy and the two younger children, introduced as Cynthia and Anabelle, joined them. Harry sat at the head of the table and Clara seated herself by his side. Michael was granted the seat at the opposite end. Harry reached for his wife’s hand and the children all linked hands, the two youngest reaching for Michael’s. “Let us pray,” Harry said and bowed his head. The family followed suit.

  “Lord, You have graced us with the presence of the visitor You told us to expect and we are grateful for Your provision in allowing us to be available to help a fellow brother in need. Bless our meal and sustain us for the work You have for us this day, and bless Sir Tidley as he continues on his journey. May You protect him through all that is in his path. We humbly give You our hearts and our service this day, in the name of Jesus. Amen.”

  Everyone chorused, “Amen,” and the food was passed around.

  “Your prayer indicated that you anticipated my arrival,” Michael said as he placed some coddled eggs on his plate.

  Harry nodded. “I don’t often have dreams, but last night I did and I shared with my wife this morning. We knew you would come and that we were to help.”

  “May God be praised for leading me to your home. I’m appreciative of everything you’ve done for me.” Michael choked back the emotion.

  “Tis our pleasure. We have a horse that you may borrow to get to the Inn at Ashford. You can change horses there and we will pick her up tomorrow.”

  “You need to shave, or your wife won’t kiss you,” said the little girl.

  “Anabelle, that was not a polite thing to say.” Clara turned towards Michael. “My humble apologies.”

  Michael smiled. “She speaks but the truth. I have been away from civilization too long and do need a shave and haircut. I will find someone along my path to do that for me.”

  “Mamma does it for Daddy. She could help you look human again.” This time, it was the dark-haired cherub on his other side.

  “Cynthia.” Came her mother’s warning.

  “But Mamma, that’s what Daddy says when you shave him.”

  Michael fought back a grin, glanced at Harry, and chuckled.

  “It’s true,” the farmer said. “Clara, I’ll clean up if you would be gracious enough to help our guest look human. Heaven forbid he returns home to find himself bereft of kisses because of his beard.”

  Clara gazed at her husband and smiled.

  Michael observed the love that existed between them. A cozy cottage, love, children, and a simple life. This is what he hoped for with Katrina. If she would have him.

  “Very well. Children, take your dishes to the washbasin and assist your father. When you are finished, you may see to your morning chores.”

  A chorus of “Yes, ma’am” was followed by the movement of chairs and the withdrawal of plates.

  Harry sat down his fork and rose to take his plate and his wife’s before heading to the clean-up area.

  Clara rose as well. “Enjoy some more coffee, Sir Tidley. I will return shortly with all I need to make you presentable to your wife.”

  Before he could correct her, she was gone. Michael sipped his coffee and reveled in the warmth of this house God led him to.

  When the shaving was done and his hair cut and combed back off his face, Sir Michael was ready to ride out to Ashford. He left generous payment on the fireplace mantle when the Witts’s refused it from his hand. The family all stood on the front steps of the cottage to wave him off while Harry held the reins on the horse as Michael mounted.

  “God’s blessings on you, Sir Tidley.”

  “And may He bless you and your family richly as well for your kindness this day.” Michael waved and was off down the road in the late morning sunshine.

  ~*~

  The days passed in dreary progression at Rose Hill. Katrina’s pain was reduced to a dull ache and occasional itch, although the scar would always be there. She favored more modest fashions that did not show the shoulders or great expanse of chest, so other than her future husband, no one would ever need to see them. She shook her head. Husband? Who was she fooling? Michael might have spoken bold words, but she would never hold him to promises uttered in the midst of a crisis.

  “Josie, Marcus wouldn’t force me to marry Michael against my will, would he?”

  Josie set down her mending and considered the young woman sitting across from her. “I believe he might exert pressure on you and Michael to do what is right. You have been compromised and if society were to find out you not only went to Michael’s rooms alone, traveled in a carriage with him, and posed as husband and wife at an inn, sleeping in the same room together…”

  Katrina gasped. “How did he know?”

  Josie smiled. “The same way the upper ten-thousand would if they looked too carefully at the gray little companion of Lady Orion. That is why we wait for Michael to return and are putting together a more colorful wardrobe to launch you into society. You will take the beau monde by storm and they will have no recollection of the companion who disappeared after a fall injured her shoulder.”

  Josie’s eyes told Katrina that both Josie and Marcus were fully aware of how much of a lie that had been.

  Katrina blushed. “I don’t want a man to marry me because he has to.”

  “Didn’t Elizabeth tell you her story? She wasn’t desirous of a forced marriage either, but now they love each other and have a young son.”

  “I am glad that Phillip has found a wife who suits him, but that doesn’t mean a forced marriage between Michael and myself would be successful.”

  “I was under the impression that Michael was eager to wed you. He wrote and asked Marcus to call the banns and even sent a notice to the papers.”

  “He what?” Katrina rose and began to pace with a little terrier wagging her tail as she followed. “How dare Marcus do that.”

  “How dare I what, Katrina?” Marcus entered the room, tossing his hat on a table and walking over to his wife who rose to greet him.

  Katrina turned her face, embarrassed at watching their embrace. A sadness and longing for the lips of a certain other dark-haired, brown-eyed man haunted her.

  “I interrupted something. I am sorry. Katrina, what did I dare to do that you find offensive?”

  “Calling the banns and posting them in the paper? How could you?”

  “Michael made it clear that he desires your hand in marriage. He requested that I take those steps and I obliged him.”

  “Without consulting me? I thought I still had a choice in who I marry.�
��

  Marcus cleared his throat. “I believe, cousin, you made your preference to Michael clear over the years. Recent activities and participation in his work indicated you desire his company. I would never have expected you to be averse to his suit.”

  “He’s never presented his suit, that’s what I’m opposed to. Oh, he spoke the words in the warehouse but he was experiencing guilt over what happened. It wasn’t a real proposal. You all assumed I would marry him and he has yet to even ask me!” Katrina’s hands were fisted and she shook them by her side. “Excuse me.” Katrina left the room.

  Marcus glanced over at his bride with a raised eyebrow. “Is it that big of an issue that he never asked her?”

  Josie walked over to her husband and put her arm around his waist. “A girl wants to believe she is loved and wanted. She doesn’t want to be an obligation.”

  “Well, I love and need you and still want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “Silly man. We’re already married.”

  “I thought it couldn’t hurt to tell you. Did it?”

  Josie gave a sly smile. “Not at all. Shall we go upstairs? You could use a rest from your journey from London.”

  “Rest. Yes, that is exactly what I need. I missed you, Josie.”

  Hand in hand they left the drawing room and were not seen again until supper.

  ~*~

  Katrina seethed in her room as she paced. Men! How arrogant to think that a woman would be so desperate that she’d jump at the chance to marry. Well, she was not desperate. She had her own small fortune. She could stay with Marcus and Josie or return to Lady Orion. She plopped down in the chair, defeated. Was this all that life had to offer? She grabbed her hat and headed outside to the tall oak that signified much of her relationship with Michael. He was as steady and strong as this tree. Always there. Supportive. She glanced up into the leafy branches. It had been so long ago that she had climbed. Did she dare try it now?

  Katrina feared heights since that day. Be brave. You can do it! Michael wasn’t here to discourage or rescue her. She was her own master. She smiled. With determination she grabbed the lowest branch and swung herself up. She almost knocked her spectacles off in the process. Adjusting them she reached for the next one and continued her ascent. She reached as far as she could go and settled on a large branch, holding on tight to the core of the tree. She glanced around her. Her vision was restricted by the leaves. She inhaled and let the air out. She leaned her head against the trunk and wept.