Honor Bound

by C. J. Archer

  She looked down again and tried to determine the best route for a safe descent. With a sigh, she realized it was the one she'd already attempted.

  Curses. No fifteen year-old boy would find himself stuck up a tree. That fact was of more concern than her current predicament because it meant she wasn't completely immersed in her disguise, even after two days in it. She could not let her concentration or her disguise slip, even at this late stage.

  She blew out a breath. She could do it. Or more to the point, Pip could. She lowered herself again, this time holding onto the trunk for balance and—

  Crack!

  The branch snapped under her weight. Pippa grappled at leaves, twigs and then emptiness in vain. With a cry, she crashed to the ground, landing with a thud that bruised her rump and stole her breath. But any pain she felt was forgotten when an unearthly screech ripped through the air. She looked up to see a huge beast rise above her, its hooves threatening to smash her skull. She screamed, drowning out the creature's snorts.

  The front legs descended. She rolled out of the way. Fear made her fast and she scrabbled backwards to the base of the tree. The creature, one of hell's beasts for sure, reared again. She gathered her strength around her, inside her, drawing on the well of heat at her core and feeling it surge down her arms to her fingers. In the two days since setting fire to The Grange, she'd grown accustomed to the new sensations building whenever her fear or anger rose. But in that time, she'd also learned to control it.

  "Easy, Devil," a man's voice boomed over the snorts of the beast. Except the beast was nothing more than a horse. A very large horse, but still not the hellhound she'd thought it to be moments ago. "Easy now," he said again, his voice more soothing.

  Pippa quickly stood and suppressed the magic until it was no more than a tingling warmth in her belly. The horse whinnied and shied away from her, its nostrils flaring, its big head jerking fiercely. The rider held the reins in one hand and leaned forward to stroke the horse's neck and murmur in its ear.

  She stared at them and tried to control her galloping heartbeat. It took a moment of forcing herself to think rationally to realize horse and rider hadn't suddenly appeared from nowhere like some supernatural spirit. They must have emerged from around the small hill alongside her tree. She'd been so intent on getting down, she'd failed to notice their approach.

  When the horse grew calm, the rider dismounted and fixed a glare on Pippa that made her wish she possessed the power to vanish as well.

  "What kind of foolish prank was that?" he blasted. "You could have been killed!" He raised his hand and she put an arm up in defence, but instead of striking her, he merely pulled the hat off his head and wiped his brow.

  "It was no prank," she said, hearing the tremor in her voice and not liking it. She had no reason to be afraid. Not here on the edge of London where no one knew her. She hadn't been followed—she'd made sure of that. She was safe.

  Unless this horseman decided to thrash her.

  He looked quite capable of doing it too, with his large hands and broad frame. He had the sort of shoulders used to hard work and breaking bones.

  Yet she was quite capable of breaking bones too—something she'd discovered when the highwayman tried to rob her only the day before. Still, it wouldn't do to draw attention to her...abilities. Her situation was precarious enough. It would be wiser simply to stay silent.

  "Then what were you doing jumping in front of my horse?" His deep blue eyes brimmed with anger. "Well, lad?" he said when she didn't answer. When she still didn't answer, he growled low in his throat. "God's teeth, what a bloody foolish thing to do! You're lucky Devil didn't crush you to death."

  Devil—how appropriate.

  She stared up at him, a hundred retorts racing through her mind. She swallowed them all. Easy, Pippa, she told herself using the same tones the rider had with his horse. Best to let the man get his anger out of his system then she could be on her way. From her earlier vantage point in the tree, she guessed Lord Ashbourne's house to be at least another half hour away. It had been easy to spot amongst the other grand houses stretching from The Strand down to the riverfront, thanks to Georgiana Dale's detailed description.

  The rider grunted again and turned his attention to the horse stamping at the ground with a hoof. He rubbed its neck and shoulder until the muscles stopped quivering and the horse quieted. When the man turned back to her, his face had lost some of its hardness and his eyes were more like deep, still lakes than stormy seas.

  "Are you injured?" he asked.

  "No." Except for the bruises. And her pride. She went to tuck her hair behind her ear only to remember it had been cropped short. She adjusted her cap instead.

  The man swept her with a brisk gaze as if satisfying himself of her wellbeing. No, not her wellbeing, Pip's. The rider only saw a boy standing in front of him. She hoped.

  "Well?" he asked, one eyebrow raised.

  She frowned. "Well what?"

  "Are you going to tell me why you thought it would be amusing to startle my horse?" Irritation threaded his words, even though his stance relaxed somewhat. He held the reins with one hand, the other clutching a piece of paper at his side which she hadn't noticed before. Had he been reading it when she dropped out of the tree? That would explain why he hadn't seen her fall.

  "Amusing?" she said. "Am I laughing?"

  His eyes locked on her mouth which suddenly went dry under his direct gaze.

  "I didn't startle your horse on purpose," she continued. "And if you'd been watching where you were going, you'd have known that."

  One corner of his mouth lifted, but not in humor. She had thought him quite handsome at first, not in a fashionably pretty way, but with unconventional roughness that couldn't be smoothed away by a mere improvement in his grooming. Now she thought him quite ugly. He was much too dark, too sharp of cheek, and too big. Far too big. Anyway, he looked to be well over thirty.

  "You're quite forthright, aren't you?" he said, his voice low and dangerous. "Considering you don't know who I am or what I'm capable of."

  She suspected he was capable of a lot of things, snapping her in half being one of them. However, she didn't think he would hurt her. There'd been genuine concern in his expression when he'd asked her if she was hurt. As to who he was, well, he dressed like any other traveler. Dirty boots, simple black cloak over black riding doublet and breeches. A rapier sat like an old friend at his hip, the hilt worn smooth as if he'd had it for years—and used it well. Not a shiny, gold-hilted weapon like her uncle's, but a real blade. How many people had he killed with it?

  At least the dark rider didn't seem like anyone of importance, although he didn't have the same bearing as an artisan or simple villager either. He held himself erect, his broad back straight and his gaze shrewd. He didn't carry any bags so he was most likely a Londoner out for a ride, and London was no village. She'd seen it sprawling like a multi-legged beast across both sides of the river from her tree. She wondered if all Londoners were as arrogant as this one.

  Again, he raised an eyebrow. Definitely arrogant. "So you just happened to jump out from behind a bush at the same time I passed?" He rolled his eyes. "Don't lie to me, lad. I'm an expert at detecting them."

  "I am not lying! And furthermore, I don't like the accusation that I am."

  There was a heavy pause in which Pippa's heart stopped beating. She really should have kept to her earlier decision not to say anything. But something about being in disguise so far from home made her feel safe. And adventurous. A dangerous notion that, and one she needed to suppress. She might be free but adventuring could end her freedom too soon.

  "I see," was all he said. He studied her for a long time and she felt the familiar swell of fear overtaking her anger. Then the man blinked and began to chuckle. The chuckle turned to a laugh, crinkling his eyes and softening his features. "Then tell me your version of events."

  She hesitated, not trusting his sudden change of mood. "I didn't jump, I fell." She pointe
d to the tree canopy above her. "From there."

  He looked up then back at her, his gaze lingering like hot summer sunshine on her chest. Her cheeks reddened and she moved instinctively to cover her breasts but stopped herself when he looked at her face again.

  "Are you sure you're not injured?" he said. "That's quite a fall."

  Pippa shrugged then winced at the pain in her shoulders. "I'm perfectly fine. Thank you. I must be going." She picked up her satchel, still resting against the tree trunk where she'd left it, and walked off. Her hip felt a little sore but not enough to make her limp, something to be grateful for.

  "Wait!" The rider joined her, leading his horse which followed meekly. "It seems I owe you an apology."

  "Yes."

  "Right." He coughed. "I'm sorry."

  She inclined her head in acknowledgement.

  "What's your name, lad?"

  She glanced at him sideways. "Pip." It couldn't hurt to give him the false name she'd been using at inns between Shelton and London, and would continue to use at Ashbourne House.

  "Where are you heading? Perhaps I could give you a ride. Devil can hold both—"

  "No!" Good Lord, she couldn't sit behind this stranger! Her breasts may be small and easily hidden beneath her oversized cloak and the thick leather of her jerkin, but squashing them against his back was a little too risky. How could he fail not to notice them? He was a man after all.

  He looked taken aback. "Are you sure? You've just had a fall. And a fright, if the expression on your face when Devil reared is anything to go by."

  "I'm unharmed. And I've not far to go."

  "You're going to The Strand?" He nodded in the direction they were heading.

  She said nothing and kept her eyes on the worn dirt path.

  "Very well," he said, tartly. "I can see you're not one to forgive easily."

  "No, it's not—." She bit her lip to stop herself talking. Best to let him think her still annoyed.

  He mounted and Devil began to prance as if sensing his master's urgency to be away. "You'll want to arrive at your destination before nightfall, lad," the rider said with a nod at the sinking sun. "London's not safe after dark." He urged Devil on and the horse charged off before Pippa could politely thank him for his advice.

  She blew out a breath, relieved to see the back of him. If all Londoners were as unsettling as that man, she was in for a challenging time ahead.

  ***

  Lord Ashbourne's steward regarded Pippa closely before turning away as if bored. The quick change in his manner made her uneasy and she held her breath waiting for him to speak, hoping he didn't see through her disguise.

  "Would you care to sit?" he asked.

  "No thank you, Sir." She preferred to stand near the door to make escape easier if necessary. A new habit, borne of two days fleeing in disguise.

  "I understand you were enquiring after Mistress Dale?" he said, idly brushing his long fingers across the back of a chair. Checking for dust?

  The chair was one of only two bracketing the fireplace in an otherwise bare chamber near the kitchens. Clean rushes covered the floor but the walls and chairs were unadorned. Not even a cushion offered comfort. The steward, Fallon, had directed her to the room after she asked to speak to him. The servant who'd let her in through the kitchen entrance hadn't been any help at all. He'd told her he'd never heard of Georgiana Dale. Thankfully Fallon didn't seem so ignorant.

  "She was my mother's friend," Pippa explained. "She wrote telling me I would find her here."

  "You won't," he said, rubbing his fingertips together to remove the dust. His attention seemed to be completely on his task. If he wasn't speaking to her, Pippa would have thought he didn't even see her. "She's gone," he went on. "She left Lord Ashbourne's service two years ago." His gaze met hers, direct and uncompromising. "As her friend, you would have known that."

  Pippa swallowed around the lump in her throat. Gone? And soon after her last letter by the sound of it. "My mother died some time ago. Mistress Dale wrote to me saying that if I ever needed her, I was to come here."

  Fallon's brown eyes grew softer as he took in ever inch of her from her newly cropped hair to her dirty boots. "I cannot help you. I'm sorry."

  "Do you know where I can find her?" Please let it not be far. The sun was almost set and she needed somewhere to stay for the night. What little money she'd taken with her had run out after she'd paid for the previous night's room. If she left immediately, she could probably make it through the London gates before curfew.

  "Haverford," he said.

  "Is that nearby?"

  "About half a day's ride from here."

  "Ride?" she said weakly.

  He nodded and glanced past her to the door, looking eager to be gone himself.

  Pippa wished she'd taken up the offer of a chair. Her legs suddenly felt too weak to hold her. "Haverford," she said to no one in particular. "Oh."

  His sad, bloodhound eyes regarded her again with cautious curiosity. "Mistress Dale was a friend of your mother's, you say?"

  "Yes." She rallied under his sympathetic gaze. She had come this far and would not crumble at the final stage. All she needed was a bed for the night and then she would somehow complete her journey tomorrow. "Great friends but I believe it was mostly by correspondence. I've never met her." It was the truth. She had found during the years lived under her uncle's roof that it was best to keep to the truth where possible. It made it easier to keep track of the lies.

  He nodded thoughtfully. "It'll be dark soon. Do you have somewhere to stay, lad?"

  "No. I was hoping Mistress Dale would accommodate me here with the servants until she found me employment." Another lie, quickly formed and not very well thought through. She held her breath and watched the long, straight face of the imperial steward as he considered her words.

  "Employment?" he said. "As what? A pageboy perhaps?"

  "Yes." What did it matter now? Georgiana was gone and Pippa would say anything to get a room for the night.

  "Good. Then you can start immediately."

  "Pardon?" She blinked at him.

  Fallon inclined his head. "Last week the page of the wardrobe received news of his father's illness and had to leave unexpectedly. You can take his position until he returns. I'm sure Geor...Mistress Dale would approve."

  Pippa's fingers tightened around the strap of her satchel. "Page of the w, wardrobe?"

  An almighty clatter from the kitchen made her jump. Fallon looked irritably past her. "It is a great honor," he said, distracted.

  "B, but I simply want to find Mistress Dale. She will help me—"

  "To find employment, yes? Well, you don't need to travel all the way to Haverford only to have her send you back here to be page of the wardrobe." He looked at her as if she was a dullard.

  She snapped her mouth shut when she realized it was open. "Are you sure I am the most suitable person?"

  The noise from the kitchens returned to the dull hum of earlier and his attention returned to Pippa. "And why wouldn't you be?"

  Because she didn't want employment, she only wanted a night's shelter. And because she would have to see Lord Ashbourne naked! She would be required to help him dress and attend to his most personal needs. No, she couldn't possibly take the disguise that far.

  "You require employment," he went on, not hiding his impatience, "Lord Asbhourne requires a page of the wardrobe."

  "I've never been a page of the wardrobe before." Never served anyone in her life although she had been around servants since she was born and knew the duties each performed in a major household.

  "You seem a well-bred boy, if a little travel-stained, and his lordship would dismiss me on the spot if I turned away a friend of Mistress Dale's." His eyes twinkled unexpectedly. The effect was rather delightful.

  She longed to ask why his lordship would dismiss Fallon but refrained. She would ask Georgiana herself when she saw her. That's if she got through the night safely at Ashbourne House. But not a
s the page of the wardrobe. Certainly not.

  "Is there some other service I could undertake, Sir? In the kitchens perhaps? It's just that I don't think I am suited to be page of the wardrobe."

  "Nonsense! There's nothing to it. You simply do as his lordship requests. Besides, you're much too skinny to be of use anywhere else. Don't worry, Gertie will help you settle in. His lordship isn't expected to return until the morning anyway so you'll have all evening to familiarize yourself with your tasks."

  Not expected until the morning? Perfect. She'd be gone by the time he returned. "Then I accept. Thank you, Sir."