by Julia Latham
Whispering, she said, “You forgot one thing.”
“What is that?”
“You are speaking with a common accent,” she said, “but I was never good at mimicry. I will give my origins away if I speak too much.”
“Then play shy and let your husband do the talking.”
She groaned.
“Is the mistress all right?” the farmer asked.
“Simply tired, sir,” Adam called back respectfully.
Florrie felt like the biggest fool, because people who had so little wanted to help them. The cottage was only one room with a loft above, and she could see two little faces peering down on them. The farmer’s wife stood near the fireplace, stirring a small caldron that was hung over a fire. There was a scarred table with two benches, a simple bed along one wall, and a cupboard with her cooking spread across the top. Drying herbs and vegetables hung from the ceiling beams, and Adam had to duck to miss them.
He pulled his cap from his head, still gripping Florrie’s arm. She leaned her head against his shoulder and peered at the curious woman.
“This is me wife, Mistress Ascham,” said the farmer.
Mistress Ascham was dressed in a plain, clean gown with an apron pinned to her waist and a linen cap covering her hair. She bobbed her head. “Guests,” she said, smiling. “I thought the dog’s bark was more excited than scared.”
Florrie couldn’t help glancing up at Adam. The dog had sounded ferocious to her. They had passed it tied up next to the front door. Though it growled, at a word from its master, it hadn’t moved.
“They’re travelers movin’ to a new town,” Master Ascham said, putting his ax on pegs in the wall and thrusting the torch into the fire. “No money for an inn.”
“Then sit at our table and share our food.” Mistress Ascham motioned to the table. “James and Jasper, come set out the bowls.”
Florrie saw that Adam didn’t try to hide his amazement as this family accepted them without suspicion. His expression came across as a man who couldn’t believe goodness might be shown them. He’d lived a guarded, protected life, where he’d obviously been taught that one should never trust strangers.
Florrie prided herself that her abilities had helped their situation. She’d always been able to think and react quickly. What honest man could resist a frightened woman? And Adam’s idea to make her with child had been the final thing Master Ascham had needed to hear.
After she and Adam sat down side by side on a bench, she gratefully washed her hands when Mistress Ascham passed her a basin, soap, and a drying cloth. James and Jasper, two little boys of near the same age and the same sandy hair scurried back and forth from the cupboard to the table, bringing wooden bowls, spoons, two plain cups, and two tankards. She noticed that the farmer and his wife had no drinking vessels before them. Florrie realized that the Ascham boys had given their parents’ only tankards to the guests. She was feeling terrible about taking advantage of such a sweet family, and wished they could leave money, but then the Aschams would know they’d been lying. All she could do was accept the hospitality.
And watch the show that was Adam. He was a totally different person, and she guessed even less like his real self. The noble, reserved man was the one she’d been traveling with, not this jovial, overly cheerful stranger. Once again, he introduced her as Katherine, and this time he was Edmund. “Edmund” was wonderful with children, and had the little boys giggling with his stories of mistakes he’d made training his horse. The family clearly had never been able to afford the ownership of a horse, and the fact that Adam had two reduced the boys to awe.
Florrie would have loved to join in the conversation, but her “shyness” prevented it. So she kept close to Adam, eating her hot stew—such a treat!—and smiling at the Aschams.
At first, Mistress Ascham wouldn’t allow Florrie to help clean the dishes from the table, so Florrie was able to watch Adam take a broad piece of wood from near the hearth, and using his knife, carve it into the form of a horse. Though it was crude, there was an elegance to the way the neck arched that made Florrie think that with more time, the carving would be quite lifelike. Another skill she never would have suspected in her kidnapper. But perhaps, being isolated as a child, he’d had to develop his own interests.
As he carved a second horse, Adam and Master Ascham discussed Adam’s training as a soldier. Florrie was listening avidly, hoping for more of a glimpse into Adam’s world, when she saw Mistress Ascham gesture to her.
Florrie gladly came over to the cupboard, and without being asked, picked up a cloth to dry the dishes Mistress Ascham had just washed in a basin of soapy water. The farmer’s wife couldn’t be much older than Florrie. Though her husband had more years than she did, they seemed very happy together.
Mistress Ascham handed her one of the wooden cups. “So ye’re movin’ south for yer health?” she said softly.
“Aye, mistress,” Florrie said, then could have bitten her tongue. She’d already had to answer questions several times at dinner, and her speech was stilted from concentrating so hard at sounding common.
“Ye’re sure ye did not run away because of the babe?” the woman asked kindly.
Florrie tried to speak with hesitation, even as her blush betrayed her unease. “Nay, mistress, Edmund says there’s more soldierin’ near London. He could become a knight with his skill and hard work.”
“Me thinks he was once beneath you—milady?” Mistress Ascham still spoke kindly. “Ye cannot quite hide yer upbringin’.”
Florrie bit her lip. If anyone following them questioned these people, they’d know exactly who she and Adam were. She had to trust in the Aschams. “Mistress, please, say nothing. I love him so, and we want to be happy together.”
“I know, I know,” the woman said on a sigh, passing over a wooden platter to be dried. “’Tis very obvious ye care for each other.”
It was? Florrie thought with a mixture of surprise and unease. Surely it was all because of Adam’s skill at pretending.
Before they could speak more, Master Ascham sent the boys with their new toys up to the loft and offered his own bed to the guests.
Florrie stared wide-eyed up at Adam, who put his arm around her even as he spoke. “That will not do, sir. I cannot drive ye from your bed. The loft in the barn will do us fine on a summer’s night.” When the farmer tried to protest, Adam held up a hand. “Ye cannot change me mind.”
They were given plenty of blankets, and a lantern made of etched horn to light their way. As they walked across the dark yard, leaving the growling dog behind, Florrie let out a loud sigh and clung to Adam’s arm for real.
As they reached the barn’s interior and shut the door, he peered at her. “You are bothered by something?”
“Bothered?” she echoed in disbelief. “Why should it bother me to lie to two nice people?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Mistress Ascham thinks I am born noble, and that you are a common soldier I fell in love with, and that’s why we are running.”
“Oh,” he said, setting the horn on a table near the ox’s stall. “A plausible reason.”
“But if anyone questions them about us, and it comes out that I am a noblewoman—”
“A noblewoman in love,” Adam interrupted. “You were convincing enough.”
“I thought you were,” she said stiffly.
“My thanks.”
He grinned, and in that moment, she saw even more of a resemblance to his brother.
His amusement faded, and he said with intent, “You have done well this night. You think very quickly.”
The swelling of pride she felt at his words gave her a moment’s unease. She should not want to please him so much. She changed the subject. “What about Robert and Michael?”
“I am certain they saw what happened, and the result. They will keep watch on our surroundings and make their own camp nearby.”
She almost felt guilty for being under shelter when they were not, but she silently chastised h
erself.
“Can you climb into the loft without my assistance?” he asked. “I will feed and groom the horses.”
She frowned at him. “I may be crippled, but I was a champion at climbing trees.”
“You are not crippled,” he said.
He spoke with enough force that she raised an eyebrow. He turned away too quickly and went to the horses.
Florrie was already snug beneath blankets in the loft by the time Adam climbed up, carrying the lantern. With their blankets, and the heat rising up from the animals below, she knew that they didn’t need each other for warmth. Adam must have had the same realization, because he laid out his blankets several feet from her, then blew out the lamp. Slivers of moonlight showed her that he lay with his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling.
“Today you told me about your childhood,” Florrie murmured, lying on her side as if she could see his expressions in the dark. “But you really never said how you felt about it.”
“Felt?” he echoed, seeming confused. “It was what it was. I was grateful. What more needs be said?”
“You were not angry or confused?”
“I probably experienced every emotion when I was young and immature, but I do not dwell on it now. What is the point?”
“But…talking can make you feel better.”
“I disagree. Talking makes one remember, rather than leaving it in the past.”
“Where it can fester. Obviously your resentment against my father has only grown.”
“Of course it has. He committed a crime and has not been punished. I need justice.”
“Or vengeance,” she said softly, sadly.
“If so, ’tis my right. Is this a female thing?”
“What?” she asked in confusion.
“Talking about feelings.”
“I forgot—Robert did hint that you saw few women.”
He said nothing, leaving her even more curious.
“Talking resolves problems,” she said.
“Not this one. The only talking I will do to your father will be offering a challenge.”
“But if you talked—”
“What would be accomplished?” he demanded, sounding even more irritable. “This is a man who killed two unarmed people—one of them a woman. There can be no resolution without justice. If you are trying to save him from me—”
“I am not!” she insisted. How could she tell Adam that she wanted to save him? “Women are creatures who believe talking helps to resolve emotions. For instance, I can say all I want that my father will not be coerced in any way by you having me under your control. I am not important enough to him.”
“I do not believe that. Are you saying this to somehow make me change my mind?”
“I would be happy if you would, but only because I do not wish to see you harmed in any way.”
“Me. Not your father,” he said doubtfully. “What point are you making?”
“Oh, nothing.” She wanted to tell him about her father’s recent illness, but it would affect every plan Adam had spent years formulating. Would he do something worse in desperation?
“If you do not wish to talk to me about such things, I understand,” she said. “You can talk to me about something else.”
He gave a heavy sigh. “I can think of other things to do rather than talk.”
“We’ll sleep in a moment. I have a military question. I heard Master Ascham say we are near Bosworth. Is that not the field where King Richard was killed in battle last year?”
“Aye, it was, but be careful. There are many who believe he wasn’t even the true king, and that his death was just.”
“My father quietly supported King Henry, but did not do so openly until the battle was over.”
“He was not the only one,” Adam said dryly.
“What about you? Which side did you support?”
“I was not allowed to choose sides.”
“Not allowed?” She wished she could see his face. “Who did not allow you?”
“My conscience,” he said.
She didn’t believe him. She wondered how strong Sir Timothy’s hold still was on Adam. Could he have coerced Adam to seek his vengeance on her father?
“The political differences made the situation too murky,” he continued. “I am more interested in helping innocent people, rather than assisting those corrupted by power. Unless it is necessary.”
“So you do not serve the king?”
“Of course I do,” he said with exasperation. “If he called on my service, he would have it. But last year, Henry was not the king; Richard was. And his supporters betrayed him in the end. I was in Scotland at the time.”
“Oh, what were you doing in Scotland?” she asked with interest.
“Traveling.”
His tone of voice made it clear he would not elaborate, and she knew she’d pressed far enough. But she could not help saying, “The Ascham boys appreciated those horses you carved. ’Tis an impressive skill.”
“The time limited what I could do.”
“I can tell you possess even greater skill than that. I surmise you had little else to do, since there were no women about when you were young.”
She heard the hay rustle beneath him, as if he’d turned to look at her, but he made no response. She hadn’t thought he would, for he was a man who’d rather withhold a truth than lie about it.
Thinking of him made her far too wakeful, and curious, and—
“Adam?”
It was a moment before he said, “Aye?”
“If Master Ascham returns before we’re awake, will he not wonder why we sleep separately?”
“’Tis summer.”
“I do not think that a good enough reason.”
Without waiting for his permission, she got to her feet, bringing her blanket with her as she shuffled through the hay. She lay her bedding down beside him, feeling bold and uncertain—but adventurous. She didn’t want to think too deeply about what she was doing. She lay down, her arm and shoulder brushing against his.
He said nothing, although she thought he might have sighed. She remembered his kisses, and the way his hands had touched her body, bringing on such feelings of pleasure. She shouldn’t dwell on such things, but they seemed to sweep through her body uncontrollably, and she wondered what she was supposed to do about it. She knew she wanted to distract him from his mission, save him from himself, but was this the way to do it?
When he didn’t turn onto his side, she did, curling her hips back against him.
“I cannot get comfortable,” she murmured, rolling back to face him.
“Perhaps, ’tis because you’re sleeping in a hay loft.” He spoke impassively, staring at the roof.
He seemed tense, and she knew she was affecting him. She felt guilty—and exhilarated—all at the same time. What an adventure!
She found herself stealing glances down his body, looking for the clues of passion he’d explained to her. But sometime during their conversation, he had pulled the blanket up loosely about his waist, and she could see no telltale…bulge. Not knowing what to do next, she found herself fingering the sleeve of his tunic.
Suddenly Adam took hold of her, and in one smooth move, pulled her on top of him. She gasped at the impression of heat and hardness beneath her, his body seeming so big against hers. She didn’t know what to do with her legs, only knowing that the more she moved them, the more she wanted to spread them wide, feel him deep against her, as she had when she’d thrown herself naked at him.
“Is this the other thing you wanted to do, besides sleep?” he said, his voice almost a low growl.
She was embarrassed by her earlier naïveté. Of course there were many more things people could do in the dark of the night besides sleep. To her mortification, she wanted to experience them.
“I did not mean to tease you,” she whispered.
“What did you mean to do?”
His face was so close; moonlight etched its severity in da
rk relief. His lips were a thin line, as if he pressed them together to keep from…kissing her, she thought with longing. Aye, she wanted to experience his kisses again.
“Are you waiting for an apology?” he demanded.
“An apology?” she echoed, feeling dazed. Her hair had loosened from her braid in their struggles, and the strands fell against his cheeks like a curtain.
“For how I behaved last night, when I…kissed and touched you inappropriately.”
She heard his words, but they seemed so distant compared to the almost painful press of her breasts against his chest. But the pain crossed the line into pleasure, confusing her.
“I…had wished for you to do it,” she answered truthfully. “No man has ever…wanted me, before you.”
“More fools they.”
And for those sweet words, she leaned down and kissed him, feeling uncertain, but growing bolder. She parted her lips, exploring the curves of his, daring to taste the undercurve with her tongue. It rasped almost painfully against his whiskers, but that only reminded her more that he was a man.
As if his erection pressing into her stomach weren’t proof enough.
He slanted his head, diving deeper into her mouth, coaxing her tongue into playing with his. The taste of him made her shudder, made her thighs part even more, but her skirt was hampering her. His hands slid smoothly up and down her back, then along her sides, to the outer curve of her breasts. She moaned.
Against her mouth, he said hoarsely, “We need to stop.”
She made a mindless “Mmm” sound, as her hands cupped his face, then slid down beneath his jaw. Even the tendons of his neck seemed erotic to her. She’d lost any sense of restraint, responsibility—or propriety. His groin pressed into just the right spot, low on her belly. It set off an ache she only thought of as…hunger.
Suddenly, he rolled until she was on her side, bewildered, lost.
“Adam?”
“Go to sleep,” he commanded, turning his back.
She stared at its broad width, hugging herself, feeling bereft and lonely and needy. It was a long time before her body quieted.