No Other Love

by Candace Camp

  Nicola cocked an eyebrow. “I would hate to be the sort of man you are, trusting no one, always suspicious.”

  He shrugged. “’Tis better than being dead or in gaol, I can assure you.”

  “You make it sound as if those were the only choices in life. Surely you could have done something else with your life besides rob people.”

  “Mmm,” he replied noncommittally. “Probably. But it would not have been as exciting.”

  “You are impossible.”

  “No doubt.” He turned and started along the smaller path that bisected the one Nicola had taken, curving around the rock and over the shoulder of the hill. Nicola urged her horse after him.

  “What? No blindfold today?” she asked. The sarcasm helped, she found, kept away the odd humming awareness of him all through her body.

  Jack grimaced. “To what effect? Considering the fact that you were not blindfolded most of the way last night.”

  Nicola blushed, remembering the way he had torn off the scarf from her eyes as he kissed his way across her face to her earlobe. He glanced sideways at her. “I warrant you could find your way at least back to the woods. Am I right?”

  His statement surprised Nicola. She had always been quick at finding her way, her sense of direction excellent, but it was odd that he should assume so. She had found that men invariably assumed a woman was poor at such things.

  “We came out of Blackfell Woods, I think—the north end. Inside the woods…” She shrugged, thinking it was just as well to let him assume that she was uncertain, though the fact was that she thought she could have made her way at least a hundred yards into the wood, as well.

  He nodded. “As I thought. When we get to the woods, I shall blindfold you again. Safer that way.”

  “Mmm.” She did not look forward to being blindfolded, but it would be easier today. At least she would not be forced to ride on the same horse with him. However, she did not like not being in full faculty of her senses or giving up control of herself to another. That was why she intended to try this time to figure out their path. She had already determined to do so; the fact that it was daylight should make it easier.

  “How is the patient today?” she asked.

  “He came to early this morning for a little while, but he has slept since then. He seemed a trifle hot to the touch when I left. That was a good two hours ago. I gave him the medicine you told me to.”

  “The feverfew?”

  He nodded. “I hoped it would keep him from growing worse while I was gone. There is someone there watching him, but…”

  “You do not trust him?”

  “Oh, I trust him. He would do nothing to harm Perry. But he is no nursemaid. I will feel easier when you are there.”

  “You surprise me. I thought you considered me a frivolous, characterless member of an evil class—and a weak, wicked woman, to boot.”

  He glanced at her expressionlessly. “With you it is just the opposite of Saunders. I would not trust you in the slightest. But I know you are a wizard with herbs.”

  “You certainly know how to take back any sort of compliment,” Nicola commented dryly.

  “I said you were a wizard with herbs. Hardly derogatory.”

  “As long as one does not mind being considered a dead loss as a human being.”

  He grunted softly. “I don’t imagine you are that, either. Many of the villagers think highly of you.”

  “You, I am sure, reserve your judgment on that.”

  “As you said earlier, I am a suspicious man.”

  “Was the woman who hurt you a noblewoman?” Nicola asked impulsively.

  He turned sharply to look at her. “What? What makes you say that? I never said—”

  “You did not have to. It is obvious from the things you say that you were badly hurt by a woman. Why else would you be so bitter, so quick to label women treacherous and deceitful? And—” she went on determinedly, overriding his voice as he started to protest “—you are equally contemptuous of the nobility. The conclusion was easy.”

  “But not necessarily true.”

  “Am I wrong?” Nicola asked challengingly.

  After a long moment, he said quietly, “No. You are not wrong. It was a woman of high station who betrayed me.”

  “Betrayed you in what way?” Nicola asked, curious about what drove this man.

  He gave her a cool look. “Someday your curiosity will get you into serious trouble.”

  “Oh, it already has, many times,” Nicola replied lightly. She added, “You know, not all noblewomen are alike, any more than are all people of any group. ‘Tis a bit unfair, don’t you think, to paint us with the same brush?”

  “Is it?” His dark gaze remained steadily on her face, his eyes, so often bright and mocking, now very serious. “What about you? Did you never betray a man who loved you?”

  Nicola opened her mouth to answer “no,” then suddenly thought about the night before and the way she had given in to this man, about the guilt she had felt, the fear that she had been unfaithful to her dead love, and she blushed, turning her face away from his.

  His chuckle was humorless. “You see? You did it, too.”

  “But it wasn’t—I mean—” She struggled to convey the difference between the guilt she felt at the thought of giving in to this man’s caresses when she still loved a man long dead and the sort of faithlessness that she felt sure he meant. “I was not unfaithful….”

  “There are many ways to betray a man,” he pointed out shortly. “It isn’t only lying with another man, though that is common enough. Isn’t it just as wicked to turn one over to one’s enemies?”

  Nicola raised her brows. “Is that what happened to you?”

  His eyes were intent on her face, and she thought she saw a flicker of some indefinable emotion flicker across his face at her words. Obviously whatever had happened still pained him after all these years.

  “Yes. It is. I was enjoyable for a while, but then I became…an inconvenience.”

  Nicola thought she was beginning to see the story. He had dallied with some noblewoman, probably someone married to a dull old lord, a woman eager for the excitement and danger that an affair with a highwayman brought. Then, when she grew tired—or he grew importunate—she had simply informed the authorities of his whereabouts.

  “I’m sorry,” she said simply. How he must have loved this woman, to still carry his hurt like an open wound. “But not all women are like that.”

  “You would do the same,” he said tightly, “given the same circumstances.”

  “I would not!” Nicola retorted hotly, feeling on much firmer ground now.

  “Liar,” he replied without heat, and there was a darkness in his eyes that was ancient and impenetrable. He dug his heels into his horse and moved in front of her.

  Nicola started to go after him to argue her case, but then she stopped. It was foolish; Jack would believe what he wanted to believe, what fit with his perception of things. There was no way that she could prove that she was unlike the woman he had known—and really, she thought suddenly, why did it matter? What Jack Moore thought of her was immaterial. They were nothing to each other, brought together only by peculiar circumstances.

  So she hung back, following him without further conversation.

  After a time, he left the path that led to Lady Falls, taking a narrower track that before long gave way to less traveled land. They rode through a meadow and over a stream, and gradually the trees grew thicker around them. Soon they reached Blackfell Wood, still riding in silence.

  He pulled his horse to a halt, turning around to face her. “It is time for the blindfold.”

  “All right.” Nicola accepted his words calmly. She knew where she was and what direction they were traveling. With a bit of effort, she thought that she would be able to figure out where they went. It wasn’t so much that she cared where the hidden house was. She had no intention of going there again—and she certainly would never reveal to anyone where it
was—but she disliked very much not knowing where she was going, being led and manipulated by someone else.

  He wrapped the blindfold around her head, fastening it from behind, but since they were both on horseback, it was a little more difficult this time, a state to which Nicola contributed by gently nudging her horse so that it moved restlessly. The scarf was not tight, and when he took her reins from her and moved his horse ahead to lead hers, Nicola seized the opportunity to push the scarf up just a trifle, so that now she could see the ground on either side of her horse beneath the blindfold. It was not much, but she was afraid that if she moved it up more, he might notice. She thought that this would be enough, for the main thing she wanted was to be able to keep her sense of direction, which was entirely lost to her when her world was utterly dark.

  Concentrating on which way they went, where they turned and how much distance they traveled each leg of the way made the trip pass quickly. They crossed a stream, and Nicola took extra care to look for landmarks there, even sneaking her hand up to push up the blindfold from one eye for a moment to glance around. Fortunately, Jack was still facing ahead and did not notice her. Until then, they had changed directions only a few times, but on the other side of the stream, they went through a dizzying series of twists and turns that sorely tested Nicola’s ability. When at last Jack halted and came around to help her down from her horse, Nicola was not certain about the specific location of the house.

  As Jack set her down on the ground, his strong hands gripped her waist for a moment longer than necessary, holding her close to him, and he leaned down until his lips were by her ear and whispered, “Surely you did not think I didn’t notice what you were doing.”

  Chagrin sent a stain of red into Nicola’s cheeks. He had seen her surreptitiously lifting her blindfold and looking for ways to mark her path! Had she been so clumsy?

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she lied, annoyed that the stiffness of her tone cast doubt upon the truth of her words. “What do you think I was doing?”

  He chuckled but made no reply, just took her arm in his hand and led her up the steps and into the house. Nicola itched to jerk her arm away, but that, of course, would have been not only impossible but also foolish, as she wouldn’t have dared to walk forward without his guidance.

  “You must be the most suspicious man alive,” she said crossly.

  Again he leaned close, so close to her that his breath ruffled her hair, and it sent a shiver down her spine. “My dear girl, I know—” He paused, then said, “I know your sort.”

  “My sort! And what is that?”

  “Always poking and prying. Having to have the last word. Step up here.” With his hand on her arm, he guided her up the two steps to the stoop.

  “What nonsense!” But Nicola knew it was true enough. It was simply infuriating that he could guess her personality that well. “Besides, what makes you think that you outsmarted me?”

  “Last word—you see?” he murmured. “Frankly, I don’t know whether I outsmarted you. That keeps the game interesting, don’t you think?”

  “I am not playing a game.”

  “No?” He opened the front door and eased her inside, then unfastened the knot holding her blindfold. “What are you doing, then?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nicola replied honestly, blinking a little in the indoor light. She looked up into his face and wished, not for the first time, that that impenetrable mask was gone so that she could read his expression.

  There was the clatter of feet on the stairs, and a moment later a man appeared, looking relieved. “There you are, sir! It’s right glad I am to see ye, too.” His eyes flickered a little warily to Nicola, then back to Jack. “Perry’s looking worse.”

  “Bloody hell.” Jack hurried up the stairs, Nicola right behind him. “What happened?”

  “Nothing ‘appened, exactly. ‘E just is ‘ot, and ‘e’s started mumblin’, like.”

  “Is he delirious?” Nicola asked.

  The man glanced at her, then at Jack. “Wot?”

  “Is he talking crazy?” Jack explained.

  “I can’t tell wot ‘e’s talkin’ about. Just words and mumbles, and sometimes ‘e moves around, all restless like.”

  Jack opened the door to the sickroom, standing back to allow Nicola to enter. She went straight to the bed and looked down at her patient. When she left the night before, he had been deathly pale and still. Now there was a faint flush on his cheeks, and he was moving—turning his head from side to side, twitching an arm or throwing a leg out from under the covers. As she stood looking down at him, he sighed and threw his arm up over his eyes, muttering something unintelligible.

  Jack joined her at the bedside and cast her a worried look. He knew as well as she that the healthier-appearing color in his friend’s face was actually a sign of fever, not recuperation.

  Nicola bent over the bed and laid her hand against Perry’s forehead. It was, as she expected, much warmer than it should be.

  “Let’s give him some more feverfew,” she suggested. “When did you last give it to him?” She looked at the man who had been with Perry.

  He gazed back at her blankly. “I didn’t give ‘im, nothin’, miss.”

  “The last he had was what I gave him before I left,” Jack told her. “You can go now, Quillen.”

  Nicola went around the bed to the small table beside it, where her bag of medicines sat. Taking out a vial of ground powder, she mixed it in a glass of water and turned back to the bed.

  “You will have to help me. Hold him up, and let’s try to get some of this down his throat.”

  Jack did as she told him, putting his arm beneath the man’s shoulders and lifting him up to an upright position. Perry opened his eyes and looked around vaguely, his gaze lighting on Nicola. He frowned.

  “Who’re you?” he mumbled.

  “Nicola. I am here to help you. You will feel better if you drink some of this.” Nicola held the cup to his lips, and he began to drink, but by the time he had taken two sips, he made a face and turned away.

  “No. You have to drink it.” Nicola put one hand firmly at the back of his head and turned it back, pouring the liquid into his mouth again. He made a feeble protest, but drank several sips before he turned away.

  “Blast it all, Perry, drink it!” Jack ordered, taking the man’s chin firmly in his free hand and holding it steady.

  Perry did so, though not without protest. Jack continued to prop him up while Nicola unwound the bandage wrapped around his chest. Then Jack laid him back down, and Nicola carefully lifted the pad from his wound. Perry winced and cursed softly when the pad stuck to the wound. She looked at it, holding the candle closer. The wound was still raw, and the skin around it was red and a little puffy. Nicola applied a cream of woundwort and marigold to the wound.

  “Good gad, woman, are you trying to kill me?” Perry gasped.

  “No, save you.”

  “Stop whining, now, old man,” Jack said jokingly. “If it weren’t for her, you’d probably be dead by now.”

  “With the—pain—I’m feeling, I might wish I were,” Perry panted out. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Nicola. “I say, are you Jack’s lady?”

  Nicola’s brows rose, and Jack said hastily, “Hush, Perry. You’re acting dicked in the nob.” He glanced over at Nicola. “I think you’re right. He is delirious.”

  “He sounded quite lucid to me,” Nicola retorted. She turned to the patient. “I am my own lady, sir, not Jack’s nor any other man’s.”

  Perry grinned faintly. “Yes, ma’am.” In an aside to Jack, he added, “I like the cut of this one’s jib.”

  “I am so honored,” Nicola added sarcastically. “Now, then, I intend for you to get well, sir, so I suggest that you lie back and go to sleep. It’s the best thing you can do for your health.”

  Perry merely nodded, his eyes beginning to drift closed already. Jack looked at Nicola. “How is he doing?”

  Nicola shrugged. “Too
early to say. His wound is angry-looking, but there is no pus formed yet. Nor is his fever raging. I am hopeful that there will be no infection. Still, it has not been very long. We must simply wait and see.” She suited her actions to her words, sitting down in the straight-backed chair beside the bed.

  Jack stood there for a moment, then pulled another chair from the far wall over to the bed and sat down across the sickbed from her. Nicola raised her brows slightly.

  “There is no need for both of us to be here,” she told him. “I came here to take care of him. No doubt there are other matters that require your attention—loot to divide, carriages to stop, people to rob….”

  “My, but you’ve developed a wicked tongue.”

  “Developed? I think, Mr. Moore, that you would find that I have always had one.”

  “Somewhat at odds with all the stories I hear about your kindness and generosity.”

  Nicola moved her shoulder in a gesture of dismissal. “Odd…I hear similarly glowing stories about you.”

  She surprised a flicker of a smile from him.

  “Perhaps,” she continued a little less tartly, “the difference is less in us than in the person who perceives us.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Nicola looked at him, his upper face hidden by the enigmatic black mask. It was most irritating, the way he kept his face secret from her, and she had to wonder at the motive. What did it matter if she could recognize him? Surely he must realize after all this that she was not about to turn him in to the constable, no matter how much he annoyed her. She had too little liking for Richard and too much fondness of the people in the village for that. The village would suffer if the highwayman went down, and that was the last thing Nicola wanted.

  She wondered if it was because of some scar or deformity that he kept his visage covered. Did he conceal himself from everyone? She remembered Lydia talking about how he concealed himself and kept away from others. That would seem to argue in favor of some hideousness that he was reluctant to reveal. However, the lower half of his face, the visible part, belied any notion of ugliness. His jaw was firm and straight; she could see that much even though it was a trifle hidden by the dark, neatly trimmed goatee and mustache that adorned his lip and chin. His lips were full and firm, well cut, even, she had to admit, somewhat arousing.