There I go again! With a snort of annoyance she turned her back on him and went inside.
~
After another half hour of vigorous swordplay the sergeant bowed out. “I’m not as young as I used to be, Captain, and you’ve got a fire in your belly today.”
“If not for you I’d have never survived this long, old friend,” Robert said, giving him a clap on the shoulder. There’s no other man I’d rather have at my back.”
Oakes watched in astonishment as the captain slung his sword over his shoulder and strode off across the lawn. Be damned if the man wasn’t whistling!
~
Hope was coming up the stairs from the kitchen an hour later with her nose in Hannah Woolley’s book The Ladies Directory. It was full of wonderful recipes, medical remedies and instructions for making perfumes—as well as information on running a household and dealing with awkward social situations. Unfortunately, there was no entry for managing pretend husbands and discarded lovers or—
She gave a shriek of alarm as she nearly smacked into her hulking husband, who was bounding down the stairs two at a time with a brace of hares. Though they both did their best to avoid the collision, Robert’s elbow caught her cheek just below the eye. She lost her footing and began to tumble backward but he managed to catch her wrist and right her. Her face began to swell immediately. Amidst curses and hastily muttered apologies he swept her off her feet and carried her upstairs, calling for Mrs. Overton as he went.
“There’s no need to make such a fuss, Captain. It’s just a bump on the head. Have someone fetch me a cold cloth and in a day or two I’ll be as good as new.” In truth it didn’t feel that bad. She felt more stunned and surprised than hurt, more shock than actual pain, though her eye watered and her face felt tight and heavy.
“Hush, elf. I’m a very large fellow and it’s a very big bump. I should have been more careful. I shouldn’t have been going so fast and I should have watched where I was going. Damn! Your cheek is black and blue and your eye is swollen shut. You’re going to have a very ugly bruise.”
“How ugly?” Her voice was a little anxious.
“Ugly enough to scare small children and weak-kneed adults.”
Her involuntary grin caused a jolt of pain that radiated through her teeth, temple, and jaw and she stifled a moan.
“I’m so sorry, love. I’ll make it better. I promise. “
He carried her with ease and despite the pain she let her head fall back against his chest. She was not a trusting soul by nature but she knew instinctively she could trust him to take care of her. I think I’ve always known it. It was an unaccustomed relief to let go and let someone else take charge for a change, and the comforting feel of his arms tight around her enveloped her in a delicious warmth that far exceeded any pain.
At least for the first twenty minutes. As Rose and her solicitous husband settled her into her bed with her head and shoulders raised on pillows, the pain and swelling steadily grew. The aching in her temple became so jagged it hurt to move and her jaw ached with a grinding pain that threatened to banish any other thought. He skin felt as if it were burning and stretched so tight that it might burst. She bit back a whimper as her husband, Rose and Mrs. Overton huddled over her, consulting on how best to proceed.
“Please close the curtains,” she rasped, her throat aching, perilously close to tears. Rose rushed to comply and then hurried away on a mission. The captain sat on the bed beside her. She gasped in pain as careful fingers brushed her tender skin.
“Hush now, love. This won’t take but a minute. Yours is not the first black eye I’ve dealt with. My men were always breaking their heads or running into a fist.” His voice was gentle and soothing. Expert fingers explored her eye, ears, jaw, teeth and cheek, checking for broken bones and assessing the damage. She flinched and his free hand gave her shoulder a slight squeeze. “Not many of them were as brave as you, though.”
She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t brave. Her head ached and her eye hurt and she couldn’t open it even so much as to blink, but it hurt too much to speak. She flinched as something cold and wet was laid across her eye and cheek. It surprised her for a moment, then it cooled her face and numbed her pain and she sighed, leaning into it, feeling a blessed wave of relief.
“Better, yes?” He smoothed back her hair and kissed her forehead.
“Better. Yes. Is it really so ugly?”
“Not so much as it will be tomorrow I’m afraid.” He replied without thinking and she gave a sad little groan.
“You’ll feel much better soon. Here comes your Rose with something to ease the pain and help you sleep.” He settled on the bed beside her, slipping a hand under her shoulders and easing her up, supporting her so she could drink an infusion of opium, saffron and nutmeg mixed in hot wine. Even that slight movement made her wince.
“I’ve brought ice, my lord, and more cloths. Mrs. Overton says the laudanum should keep her comfortable the rest of the night. I can stay with her now, if it pleases you.”
“Thank you, Rose, but it’s my fault she’s hurt and I’ll stay and see her to sleep.”
“Of course, my lord.” The little maid gave him an odd look as she left the room.
“She thinks you hit me,” Hope said dreamily, the potion already doing its work. She would never have dreamt yesterday morning that today her husband would be lying in her bed. She gave a little sigh and snuggled against him. Her head fit in the hollow between his neck and chin. Her movements were slow and languid, as if she were swimming in treacle. Despite all those hard muscles he felt comfortable and warm. She didn’t care what sounds came to her chamber tonight. She had never felt so safe.
“I did hit you,” he said ruefully, applying the ice-cold cloth to her cheek with a gentle pressure. An erection stirred as she wiggled and the soft curve of her hip settled tight against his groin.
“Mmm,” she agreed happily. “Not on purpose, though. I shouldn’t read on the stairs. Now I can’t read at all.” If a voice could pout, her last statement did just that.
“I really am sorry, love.” In truth, he was mortified. She looked as fragile as a child and he felt like a great bloody oaf. “I’ve never bruised a woman before.”
“I know, Robert. Don’t feel bad. It was a foolish accident on both our parts.” She yawned and wiggled again and he grunted. His breath quickened and his thighs and buttocks tightened. A surge of warmth spread through his body, awakening all his senses and swelling his shaft. That unruly organ surged forward, tingling from base to tip, and the constraints of his clothing acted as added stimulation, encouraging it more.
He shifted position but she shifted with him, and the warmth of her bottom only made things worse. He had never been so hungry for a woman. Despite her injury and obvious intoxication he wanted to claim her. To slip his hand under her gown and slide the length of her body, up her soft creamy thighs to brush her heated center, caress her sleek stomach, plump her breasts and tweak her nipples, making them ready for—
“I will forgive you completely if you tell me a story.” Her voice was barely a murmur.
“A story?” It took him a moment to regain his bearings.
“Mmm. To help me sleep,” she whispered.
He sighed in frustration. She was in this condition because of him but the damned woman might as well walk around naked. It wouldn’t make him any less on edge. She’d fired his blood and now even the sound of her voice left him aroused. He skimmed her cheek with his knuckles, pleased that it was cool to the touch. One long finger slowly traced her hairline from her temple, stopping to tuck an errant silk lock behind her ear.
“What story would you like, wife?” He nuzzled her neck, breathing in her scent. She smelled of rose and nutmeg and he longed to taste her.
Hope shivered and it wasn’t from the cold. She felt a delicious lassitude as his warm breath stirred her hair. The butterflies in her stomach fluttered lazily and she could feel a tender swelling in her loins. Her skin felt ripe an
d tender, pricking from her nipples to her toes but it was all as if it came from a thousand miles away. Maybe she was dreaming. “Robin Hood,” she said on a sigh. “My Robin Hood, not yours.”
“I am to do penance, then,” he said with a chuckle. “Very well. I will be sure to remember that you do not forget. But stop wiggling, love, and pressing your lovely behind close against me. You know full well what you’re doing.”
She smiled, on the brink of sleep.
“Has anyone told you about the Major Oak?”
His voice was a caress. He spoke in a rich soothing tone that made her think of chocolate. She shook her head ‘no.’ A dull shard of pain shot down her jawbone but it was too far distant to trouble her.
“Ah, well…” He stoked her hair with the tips of his fingers. “It is a venerable ancient tree near the village of Edwinstowe in the heart of Sherwood Forest. Some say it’s over one thousand years old. Thirty-three feet across its base it is, with a warm dry hollow at its center and thick broad branches that stretch out like welcoming arms. People say ’twas there Robin and his men slept. My...someone from my childhood who loved tales of Robin much as you do used to delight in reciting me this poem. It’s very old. I’m not sure who wrote it.”
“Your sister?”
“Yes.” His voice was rough. A fierce ache seized him. It was sudden, more bitter than sweet. It burned the back of his eyes and seized hold of his throat. For a moment he feared he would be swallowed by the past.
“Robert?” She turned toward him and laid a dainty hand on his chest.
He took several deep breaths, beating back the dark. “I’m sorry. You should be sleeping. Perhaps another time would be—”
“ Please. I want to hear it now.”
He took her hand in his without thinking, and gathered her close. The heat of her body warmed him, melting some of the chill that had seized him so abruptly. “Then I shall tell it to you as it was told to me. Close your eyes and imagine yourself in Sherwood Forest, with Robin and his Merry Men beneath a starlit sky sheltered by a mighty oak.” After a moment’s hesitation, he began to recite in a rich melodious voice, a tale he’d not recalled since his last day as a child.
“‘Then taking them to rest, his merry men and he
Slept many a summer's night under the greenwood tree.
From wealthy abbots' chests, and churls' abundant store,
What oftentimes he took, he shar'd amongst the poor :
No lordly bishop came in lusty Robin's way.
To him before he went, but for his pass must pay:
The widow in distress he graciously reliev'd,
And remedied the wrongs of many a virgin griev'd :
He from the husband's bed no married woman wan,
But to his mistress dear, his loved Marian,
Was ever constant known, which wheresoe'er she came,
Was sovereign of the woods; chief lady of the game:
Her clothes tuck'd to the knee, and dainty braided hair.
With bow and quiver arm'd, she wander'd here and there,
Amongst the forests wild; Diana never knew
Such pleasures, nor such harts as Mariana slew....”
As his voice trailed off he felt her go limp in his arms. His knuckles brushed her cheek. “Good night, Hope Nichols,” he whispered in her hair.
Hope drifted off to sleep under a leafy bower, her bow over her shoulder, her husband’s hand in hers. Her last thought before she slipped away was that Robin looked a great deal like her Robert.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
For three long days Hope lay abed. Her swollen face was iced for twenty minutes every hour. She felt sorry for creating so much work for the new maid, whose job it was to trek back and forth from the straw-and-sawdust-lined icehouse deep in the cellar. The ice and possets seemed to be doing the trick, though. The pain was down to a manageable roar and she could open her eye again, though the effort hurt and burned. It was still hard to read or eat or drink, and she had little to do but listen to Rose’s chatter and play on her bed with Daisy. The kitten’s antics kept her amused for awhile but she was getting restless.
Her husband was a tyrant. He’d given orders she was not to leave her bed until he said so, but he’d hardly visited her over the past three days other than to poke his head in her room and leave. She had a vague recollection of him staying by her side the day she was injured and even telling her a story late into the night, but she was beginning to think she had imagined it. It had been about Robin Hood after all, and everyone knew laudanum could make people imagine some very strange things. She’d even dreamt she traipsed through Sherwood Forest with a bow over her shoulder and that Robin was her Robert.
It surprised her how easily she had come to think of him as husband. It had seemed such a terrible thing, the end of her dreams at first. But he had proven to be a far better man than she’d expected. He was a taciturn man, not easy to know, but though he was guarded he wasn’t without joy or humor. He was young, handsome and very skilled...she thought of the billiard room again and blushed. He was also thoughtful and honorable. That was a trait much mocked at court yet an important one to her. She could think of no other man who would have returned her savings to her rather than keep it for himself as the law allowed. But now he was trying to keep her in bed, and no husband was going to rule her.
It was her face that was injured, not her legs. Surely she could walk. Her determination withered as soon as Rose brought her a mirror. Her face was no longer black and blue. It was black and purple and a sickly green and yellow, and though her eye could open it was misshapen and swollen. She let out a low moan. “Sweet Jesus, Rose! Why didn’t you tell me? What did he do to me? I look like a monster. I can’t leave the room looking like this.”
“A little face powder, my lady, would make a world of difference and—”
They both looked up to see the captain standing in the door. Rose glared at him, her eyes flashing, while Hope unconsciously put her hand up to hide her face.
“Ladies.” Red-faced and stiff, he bowed and then turned and left.
“Robert, wait! I didn’t mean to…” Her voice trailed off. He was already gone.
“Rose, I look awful. No wonder he can’t bear to see me this way.”
“More like he can’t bear to see his own handiwork,” the maid replied with a disdainful sniff.
“It’s not what you think. I’ve told you several times that—”
“That you run into his fist, ma’am. That’s what my ma used to say, too.”
“Well, I’m sorry for your mother, Rose, if that was the case. But I assure you the captain is not that way. He is a gentleman. And it wasn’t his fist. I ran into his elbow. I don’t want to have to explain it again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rose left the room with a handful of sewing and a mutinous tilt to her chin.
~
Two days later, Hope left her room. The swelling was down considerably. Her face hardly hurt at all and she could see. She did stoop to using face powder, which almost made her more uncomfortable and self-conscious than the bruising did, but she was determined to get outside. It was a beautiful midsummer day.
Roses, heavy with bees and perfume spilled over the garden gates and wended their way up redbrick walls and over broken trellises. She followed them through the park and then crossed to the river path and rambled along its edge. It was a study in contrasts. Lofty branches made a shady canopy overhead, while the sun reflected diamond bright from off the river in a lovely dance of shadow and light. Just past a narrow bend she came to a place where the water widened and calmed to a slow and lazy flow. She settled on a small hillock, with her back resting against a stately yew.
It was early still and she could hear the gentle plop and see the tiny ripples where here and there a fish rose to the surface. She flung her line into the glistening waters. Oakes had told her the river teemed with bream and pike and gudgeon, but fishing was just an excuse to enjoy a day by the river and she flippe
d her line from the water before a long dark shadow could make it’s strike.
I love it here. I like the people. This man fascinates me and I think of little else. Robert has asked me to stay, but Charles is married and might summon me soon. What in God’s name am I supposed to do?
Relax and enjoy yourself, a voice seemed to answer, and she determined that as long as she might, that was exactly what she’d do.
She had just dozed off to the quiet shushing of the river when a panicked Irish brogue woke her from her sleep.
“My lady! My lady! You are wanted at the house! You must come at once. The king’s messenger is here.”
Her heart seized in her chest. No! She wasn’t ready. She had no wish to go. She didn’t want to see him. She hurried toward the house heedless of her wayward hair and casual dress, praying it wasn’t the summons she dreaded.
The visitor, dressed very smartly in Stuart livery, waited in the drawing room with Robert. He looked startled when he saw her and he perused her up and down. “My Lady Newport?”
“Yes, sir. And you are?” Suddenly she was acutely aware of her black eye, bruised face and disheveled appearance. What in God’s name was the man to think?
“John Carpenter, at your service, madam.” He removed his brightly plumed hat to perform a deep bow. “I come with gifts for your kitchen, and a message from His Majesty. Might we speak in private?”
Hope glanced at her glowering husband, sitting in the corner with his arms folded and his long legs stretched in front of him, his booted feet crossed. “Whatever you have to say you can say in front of my husband, Mr. Carpenter.” Robert gave her a quick look, but she couldn’t read his expression.
“Very well. His Majesty has sent you ten barrels of Rhenish and a fine haunch of venison to celebrate your wedding and his own marital bliss. He wishes you to know that he thinks of you often and hopes that you are well.” He turned to stare at Robert as if he were some species of insect. Robert straightened suddenly as if he were about to get up and Hope hurried over to stand beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. His glower worsened but he grunted and settled back down.
Soldier of Fortune: The King's Courtesan (Rakes and Rogues of the Retoration Book 2) Page 19