He could not trust that she would not try and make a run for it. No other woman would risk it, but Kate Medhurst was not any other woman. She would not balk at the dangers for a woman alone and penniless in a foreign country. Just the thought of her alone out there, at the mercy of men who would hurt her... He tightened the buckle and moved on to the next strap around the horse’s girth.
‘This betrothal—’ Gunner began.
‘Feigned. To save her reputation,’ he interrupted in a harsh voice.
‘That is a shame,’ said Gunner. ‘When the two of you are such a good match for each other.’
Kit ignored the words and kept his focus on the strap he was buckling
Gunner got the message and turned to leave.
‘Gunner,’ Kit said, his fingers stilled against the horse’s belly.
His friend stopped and glanced back.
‘The vows you swore as a priest... The vows that define a man...’
Gunner waited.
‘Is there any way you could break them and live with yourself?’
The morning sunlight spilled across the straw-strewn floor. Outside a blackbird was singing.
The two men looked at each other.
‘No,’ said Gunner softly. ‘I could not. Why do you ask?’
But Kit just shook his head and turned his attention once more to the horse before him.
* * *
The little column of men and horses and the carts wound their way across those narrow bumpy highways, creeping slowly but surely towards London. Kit rode out in front, keeping his distance from Kate, checking on her welfare, but leaving her to ride beside Gunner. But too many times during that long day that took them out of Devon and halfway across the south coast of England, she glanced at him to find those dark eyes upon her.
The Cardinal’s Cap Inn in Milbourne was busier than the one at Dartmoor had been, and its guests, a little more mannerly. But she was still very aware of the looks her accent drew. And of the slightly threatening message that Kit’s protective presence sent them. He paid extra money that she did not have to share a bedchamber with other women travellers and walked her there after they had eaten. But whether it was as a man protecting the woman he cared for or a guard escorting his prisoner, she did not know.
Neither of them spoke.
The tension seemed more strained than ever.
There was not a single word. Only the sound of that door closing. Only the sound of his booted steps walking away to leave her there alone. Only the knowledge, as she made her way through the candlelight to lie on the bed, that in two days they would be in London.
Would Kit really give her up to hang? A man who had made love to her body with such tenderness, a man who had saved her life and who looked into her eyes as if he felt things for her. Part of her could not really believe he would do it. And part knew him a man who would not flinch from doing the hardest thing. It was not about the bounty, for Tobias’s body would secure him that easily enough. It was about integrity. And whatever else she knew, or did not know, about him, she knew that he was a man of integrity. It was the thing she admired most in him. And the thing she most feared, for it was his integrity that could hang her.
There had to be a way out of this. But no matter how many times she turned the problem round, no matter how many different angles she looked at it from, she could find no solution. There was no rest to be found on that lumpy over-warm bed. With a sigh she abandoned the elusive quarry of sleep and moved silently to stand by the small window.
The moonlight shone across the coaching yard, bleaching the gaudy inn sign to more muted hues and showing the empty dark carriage bodies lined up there like beasts crouched ready to pounce. Over by the stone wall a lone figure stood looking out over the nocturnal English countryside. The silhouette of a man in a shabby leather coat, wearing an old-fashioned tricorne hat—a pirate’s hat, or more accurately a pirate hunter’s hat, for upon the man’s left shoulder sat the dark shape of a raven. Sleep eluded Kit North as much as it did her.
For a few minutes she stood there and watched his familiar figure so still and silent. And then, lifting her dark shawl from the chair on her side of the bed and slipping her feet into her shoes, she unlocked the door and crept from the bedchamber.
* * *
At the sound of her footsteps Bob flew up to perch on the inn’s sign and watch them.
She came to stand beside Kit where he stood overlooking road and field and hedgerow, but seeing nothing of them.
‘You should not be here, Kate.’
‘Probably not,’ she agreed, but she made no move to leave, nor did he want her to.
She stood by his side, watching out over that same view, just as they had stood together on Raven, looking out over the ocean.
‘A man has got to sleep some time,’ she said.
‘Not always.’ He could not remember the last time he had slept.
The wind howled across the fields, blowing a rustle through the hedgerows that lined the road and divided the fields.
‘Who is Emma?’ she asked.
He shifted his gaze to her, to study her profile.
‘My sister.’ He wondered what else of his secrets he must have spilled in his nightmares.
She gave a nod and asked no more.
They stood in silence a little while longer, contemplating the view, before she spoke again. ‘We will be in London the day after tomorrow.’ She did not glance round, nor ask the question. That she could be so cool, so controlled, was a measure of her strength and made him realise that he was making the right decision. It had to be tearing her up inside; it was certainly doing as much to him and she was the one whose life hung in the balance.
He swallowed. ‘We will.’
She turned to him then, her eyes moving over his face, down over his open coat, down over his shirt as fcould see the scars beneath, down to his holsters and his weapons before coming back up to his face.
They stood so close, facing one another, in that deserted dark coaching yard, arms loose by their sides.
‘Integrity,’ she said.
‘Integrity,’ he echoed.
‘Such a difficult decision to make...whether to compromise it.’
‘It was.’ More difficult than she could ever imagine.
‘Maybe I should have made it easier for us both. Maybe I should have taken the decision out of your hands. Since you are the only one who knows the truth of who I am.’ Her gaze dropped to his holsters again, to his pistol, just as it had done that day on Raven, before coming back up to meet his eyes again.
‘You know it is always loaded,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes.’ All that had happened on Raven seemed to whisper in the quiet breeze of the night around them.
He took the pistol from its holster, turning it in his hand so that he was holding the barrel as he offered her the handle.
She inhaled a deep steadying breath, staring at it for a moment before she accepted it from him.
He opened his coat, exposing his chest.
He saw her swallow as she removed the safety catch, saw the slight tremor that ran through the pistol as she aimed it at him.
‘Close your eyes if it makes it easier.’ He guided the muzzle to press against his heart. ‘One squeeze of the trigger and it is done.’
She stared at his heart with determination in her eyes, but he could feel how much the pistol’s muzzle trembled against his chest.
The moment stretched between them.
‘Do it, Kate,’ he urged.
She glanced at his eyes, then looked at where the pistol pressed to his heart and, giving a sigh, let it drop away before making it safe. Stepping closer, she slid the pistol back into its holster, before meeting his gaze once more.
They stood there
and those short dark seconds of the night stretched longer.
They stood there and there was the thud of his heart and of hers.
‘Tell me,’ she said.
‘I will cheat Admiralty and give them Tobias. Kate Medhurst was just another of his victims. They will send you home with the next convoy.’
Her eyes closed tight as the relief flooded through her. ‘Thank God,’ she whispered.
‘I cannot deprive children of their mother.’
‘And were I not a mother?’
‘My decision would be the same.’
They stared at one another.
‘Go back inside, Kate. It is late and we have many miles to cover tomorrow.’
But still she stood there.
‘You might be giving them Tobias but the seas are free of Le Voile. I have already told you that her piracy days are over. I give you my word on that. So you are not cheating them. Not really.’
He smiled a bitter ironic smile at that because it did not change what was written upon the contract he had signed. And it was not La Voile he was delivering.
‘Go,’ he said with quiet command.
She nodded and walked away.
He watched until he saw her face appear at the small lead-latticed window and knew she was safe.
Bob swooped down to resume his perch on his shoulder. And Kit turned his gaze once more to the dark roll of fields.
* * *
Kate breakfasted with Gunner the next morning in the Cardinal’s Cap Inn’s dining room.
The bread was fresh baked and soft, the warmth it still held from the oven melting the fresh pale-yellow churned butter that she spread thick upon it. The tables had been wiped down of last night’s spills and tankard rings of dried ale. The worn and uneven stone-flagged floor had been swept and washed, and the windows opened to let the morning air chase away the stale odours of pipe smoke and soured ale and lend a brisk chill to the dining room. A maid was sweeping out the ashes from the great hearth on the other side of the room. The landlady was busy in the kitchen, and the landlord, with a drying towel in his hand, could be seen in the doorway that separated the two rooms.
Raven’s crew occupied the other tables, their normally robust manner subdued this morning, but whether it was due to a surplus of ale the night before or another cause she could not tell. Of Kit there was no sign.
‘Does Kit sleep late this morning?’ she asked Gunner quietly, wondering at what hour he had finally gone to bed.
Gunner shook his head. ‘He is in the stables, checking over the horses and the cargo. He was already out there when I came down at five.’
She wondered if he had slept at all.
Something of last night’s overwhelming relief had faded. This morning what she could not seem to get out of her head was that look in his eyes when he had pressed the muzzle of his pistol to his heart. And those soft words.
And were I not a mother?
My decision would be the same.
‘Mrs Medhurst... Kate...’ Gunner lowered his voice. ‘Please do not think me impertinent... Kit seems... Did something happen between the two of you? A disagreement, perhaps...?’
She shook her head, knowing that what was between the two of them would remain that way. She could not tell him. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because there is something in his eyes this morning that I had not thought to see there again.’
‘What do you mean?’
But Gunner just gave a little sad smile and shook his head in reply.
Her appetite waned, but she finished her bread and butter, and drained her coffee cup, not knowing when they would next get to eat.
The big wooden door banged as Kit came through it. ‘We need to get moving. Now.’
‘Aye-aye, Captain.’ The men did as he bid, finishing up their food and making their way out to the yard.
‘Gunner... Mrs Medhurst.’ He did not look at her. His manner was cool, hard, efficient. Almost like the very first time they had met. Almost. But something was different, something she could feel the essence of, but not quite define. ‘The bill has been paid. I will wait for you outside.’
The door banged again and he was gone.
She shot a glance at Gunner, but he was already on his feet and waiting for her. His pale blue eyes met hers and she felt a chill of unease stroke against her heart where there should only have been relief.
Ignoring the feeling, she fastened her bonnet on her head, slipped her gloves on to her hands and followed Gunner towards the front door.
* * *
Kit urged his horse onward. Now that the Cardinal’s Cap and Milbourne were far behind the sun slipped from behind the clouds to brighten the day. Early morning had turned to late, but still his train of horses and men and carts pressed on, knowing they had Whitchurch to reach tonight.
He led from the front, keeping his distance and his eyes from Kate.
They rode for another hour before they stopped to water and feed both the horses and men, eating the great chunks of bread and cold ham and cheese for which he had paid the Cardinal’s Cap landlord handsomely.
He studied his map, checking the roads that lay ahead, eating the bread, keeping his mind fully engaged on the task in hand so that he did not have to think of the other darker things that lay ahead in London.
‘When is the wedding to be, sir?’ Briggs asked.
‘The wedding?’ He glanced up from the map.
‘Between you and Mrs Medhurst. What other wedding could there be?’ Briggs teased with a grin.
Kit had glanced across at Kate before he could stop himself. Her eyes met his and held so that the secrets they were hiding seemed to vibrate in the air between them.
Only the two of them and Gunner knew there was never going to be a wedding.
Only the two of them knew the truth.
He should say the words, When we get to London. Or some other lie. Once an oath was broken the floodgates were opened to release lie upon lie, cheat upon cheat, until a man had no hope of saving his soul, or living with the deeds he had done. But he could not. The weight of his own darkness pressed down heavy upon him. He would damn himself to save her a thousand times over, he thought, and wondered that the decision had taken him so long.
‘Captain North and I have yet to make that decision.’ It was Kate who answered, with neither a lie nor the truth.
‘Are we invited, ma’am?’ little Tom asked. ‘Raven’s crew, that is.’
Kit was glad the question was not directed at him. He saw the way the little boy looked at her. When she left it would break the lad’s heart as much as his, had he a heart to break.
‘At any wedding of mine and the Captain’s I am sure that all of Raven’s crew would be very welcome guests.’ Again, no lie. Her clever use of words ensured it, cleverer than his had ever been.
He was glad when the time came to put away the map and ride on.
* * *
All day he rode out ahead alone, apart from the rest of them.
All day she could feel the wedge that was between them.
She should have been glad of it. She should have been willing the hours to pass all the quicker, for the sooner they reached London and she was aboard a frigate bound for America the better. She would be safe, heading home to her children and her family. And she would leave him behind, never to see him again.
He was British. She was American.
He was a pirate hunter and she the pirate he had been paid to capture.
And he was a man who had compromised his integrity to save her.
She had known that it would cost him to compromise himself, but to see it, to feel it, this difference in him... She thought of how she would feel had she to stand up and renounce all that she believed in, her cause and cou
ntry, to save him.
* * *
Being closer to London, the White Hart Inn at Whitchurch was much busier than those of their previous stops. No one accosted or challenged her on her accent, but she saw the glances that were shot her way when she spoke and heard the dark murmurs. There was an air of threat about the place and no locks upon the doors, so that when Kit escorted her to her bedchamber that night and did not leave, she was glad of it.
‘There is a bad feeling about this place. You should not be alone.’ He did not say anything of her nationality.
He jammed a wooden chair beneath the handle of the door so that it could not be opened from outside. She watched the care he still took in private over his weakened shoulder as he removed his heavy leather coat and laid it down on the floor before the chair. She knew what he was doing as he unsheathed his cutlass and positioned it on one side of the coat.
‘Planning on undoing all my hard work with your shoulder?’ she said, walking over to stand before him.
‘It is healed.’ His expression was cool and dispassionate, his eyes did not meet hers. He laid the pistol at the other edge of the coat.
‘Even so, there is a perfectly good bed over there. You can sleep above the covers, I can sleep below. I promise I will not ravish you.’
He glanced at her then. But he did not smile. Just gave a nod of his head.
And so that is what they did. She, fully clothed beneath the blankets, he, wearing his coat above them. Lying on that bed together, a thousand miles apart in the darkness.
There was a two-foot gap between them. At no point did they touch, but she could feel the tension that hung about his body, as if it were her own, feel the darkness of his turmoil.
She tossed and turned.
He lay still and unmoving, but awake. She could sense it, hear it, feel it, all through the long slow stretch of those hours until at last, when he thought her asleep, he gave up the pretence and walked quietly to stand by the moonlit window, staring out into the darkness. She watched him standing there for a few moments, like a man who had sold his soul, like a man who was haunted. And then she rose from the bed and went to stand beside him.
‘I did not mean to wake you,’ he said.
[GOD08] The Lost Gentleman Page 16