The Freemason's Daughter

by Shelley Sackier

  They stopped in front of a cooper’s shop. Jenna slid off Henry and almost onto the foot of a passing hawker. As he nimbly stepped out of the way of her oncoming boot, their shoulders collided. She heard the tinkling of trinkets he carried in a box, strapped about his neck and open for everyone to see. He apologized for the run-in and turned, dashing off in the opposite direction, but met up squarely with Daniel’s chest.

  Daniel grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and put the other in front of his face, open-palmed. “Give it back,” he said evenly, “or I will strip you myself until I’ve found it.”

  The scrappy man rolled his eyes skyward and pulled a leather coin bag from the inside of his skirt coat. He politely handed Daniel the purse and slipped, waiflike, back into the thick mass of people. Daniel stood only a few steps away from Jenna, who had watched the entire incident with complete surprise—especially the part where her coin purse emerged. She gaped at him, horrified, aware that because of her lack of market skills, she came across as easy prey.

  Daniel threw the bag in the air for her to catch, but it was intercepted by a stout man with wiry ginger hair. He wore no coat, and his sleeves were rolled to his elbows to reveal thickly muscled forearms, covered in the same coat of curls as his head.

  “I’ll take that,” he said, walking up to Daniel and giving him the stiff embrace of a man who’s used to keeping a wide berth of personal space.

  Daniel smiled warmly but took the bag from the man’s beefy, ink-stained hands. “Not all, William. Not this time. Malcolm needs some of it back.” He opened the bag and took out a handful of the coins, which William quickly pocketed. “Here, Jenna, now put it out of sight.” He tossed the bag into her hands.

  William’s gaze turned to follow the coin purse and met with Jenna’s eyes. “Christ! Ye look jest like your mother,” he said, putting a hand over his heart. He looked to Daniel. “It’s like seeing a ghost.”

  Daniel nodded. “She should get used to hearing it, I expect.”

  “Even her eyes! Green as moss and I thought I’d no’ see that color again.” William peered at Jenna once more, shaking his head.

  “Hello,” she said tentatively, “I’m Jenna.”

  “I ken who ye are. I saw ye as a snot-nosed bairn, years ago.” He tilted his head upward and scratched under his neck, where the bristles of his beard ended in pale skin. “Has it been that long since I’ve been in the company of her kin?” he wondered aloud.

  “Perhaps it is time to remedy that,” Daniel said.

  “Oh aye,” William agreed, looking seriously at Daniel under the broad rim of his eyebrows. “It’s getting too crowded down here for my liking.” He turned to Jenna. “Tell your da I’ll see him soon.”

  Not wanting to appear rude, but wary of the time, Jenna leaned closer to him. “My father. Yes. He sent me for—”

  “I ken what you’re here for. And ye have it. It’s in your purse.” He made a quick nod of farewell to Daniel and disappeared behind a fruit cart.

  Jenna looked at Daniel, again stunned by the quick interaction, and then fumbled for the coin purse she’d already hidden on the inside of her skirt. Sure enough, a miniature scroll of parchment had been placed in it. She refastened the pouch and looked up to see Daniel nod his head to follow.

  They reached the outskirts of town and rode in silence for hours. Jenna wanted to talk to Daniel, to explain last night, but her tongue was thick, and her head too muddled. At noon, they crossed a narrow wooden bridge with the horses in tow and stopped on the other side. Daniel looked up into the heavy, gray sky and said, “You need to hurry. Your father will be worried.”

  She steeled herself, took a breath and said, “I didn’t mean to kiss you last night.”

  He chortled. “I disagree.”

  “Well, you also didn’t protest. And if I remember correctly, you kissed me back.” Flustered, she fought for control.

  He shook his head. “First of all, you were so affected by the wine I’m surprised you have any memory of yesterday at all. And second, if I should ever kiss you, you would not forget it.” One side of his mouth curled with humor. “I will see you next month, when I return.” He swung into his saddle and turned his horse back toward town. “I have put food in your saddlebag for later. Now be off and do not stop for anyone.” One amber eye flashed over his shoulder before he took off at a gallop in the opposite direction.

  Apart from the occasional stumble from the odd protuberance under foot, Henry instinctively led the way with nary a comment or correction from Jenna.

  The sky grew a deeper shade of heavy gray, and she spurred their progress on until at last, she decided the horse needed a few minutes of rest and water. She led Henry to a screen of thin oak saplings off the path, to a little creek where he lapped water thirstily. She pulled one of the bags from the saddle, amazed at Daniel’s efficiency in distributing all of the goods.

  Inside the leather pouch, she found a few withered apples, obviously intended for the horse, and several tidbits she guessed Margaret had thrown together for their departure. She also found Daniel’s luminous silver flask, the one with the etchings from his grandfather. A tiny piece of paper peeked out of the leather case. She unrolled it. In vino veritas was penned in black ink. “In wine there is truth,” she translated from the Latin phrase. She stood quietly, fed the apples to Henry and listened to him crunch the flesh of the sweet fruit. “In wine there is nausea, is more like it,” she said aloud.

  She flipped open the cap and inhaled the fragrant scent. Recoiling a little, she capped the sherry and returned it to the leather bag. She would have to be very cold indeed to warm her insides with that particular potion today.

  A few chunky snowflakes began to swirl and fall from the lead-colored sky. At least it wouldn’t rain. There was nothing worse in her mind than having to spend the day soaked to the bone, wrapped in layers of dripping, smelly wool. She wondered how sheep could stand the smell of themselves when sodden.

  She apologized to Henry for the short respite as she clambered back into the saddle and took the reins. He didn’t mind and faithfully picked up his pace, likely content to head onward, where he knew he would find rest and recompense for his efforts.

  As the light grew dim and the falling snow began in earnest, she calculated the rest of the journey. They’d done well, with only seven or eight miles to cover before reaching the cottage, but it would be well into the night when she’d finally come upon it. The ground was covered with a blanket of white, and the surrounding countryside had grown quiet, any noises now muffled by the snowfall.

  In the distance, she recognized a carriage. It stood in the middle of the road, pitched at an awkward angle, one wheel lying broken. There were no horses attached to the yoke, and Jenna guessed the cart had been abandoned.

  She came alongside the carriage door and noted the Clifton crest. With a glance inside to make sure it was empty, she jerked back, spotting what looked like a bear. It rolled along the seat from side to side, suddenly caterwauling. Henry shied away from the outburst of sound and whinnied in protest as Jenna tried to rein him in. The fur-covered figure flung open the coach door and shouted, “It is about time! I nearly froze to death having to wait for you—idiota!”

  Jenna peered through the gloomy darkness. “Would that be the Lady Lucia?”

  A livid face appeared from beneath the fur blanket. “Of course it is. And you’d better be my driver.” The face retreated under the covering, clearly expecting the delay to be over.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, milady, but I am not,” Jenna said, again trying to hold a skittish Henry from bolting away from the hairy beast. “Might I be of assistance?”

  The face did not reappear but said loudly, “Do you have a wheel?”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “Then you too are an idiot,” she snapped, muted by the fur.

  “I beg to differ, milady,” Jenna said, keeping her tone even. “I seem to be the one with transport.”

&nbs
p; A dampened “Humph” came from beneath the coat.

  “You cannot stay here. Are you aware of the storm?”

  Lady Lucia threw back the cover. “Of course I am aware of it. That is why I sent the man out to find a wheel, but apparently if I want something done, I must myself do it.”

  It was almost like prodding a rabid boar, Jenna decided. “I would suggest you not wait any longer for your man. I doubt he’d be able to find his way back. The snowstorm is growing heavier. You’d best come with me. I’m heading to your home, as it is.”

  “I will not walk. I would rather stay here and freeze than be eaten by wild animals,” she stated emphatically.

  “I think most of the wild animals will be tucked away in their own homes by now—at least until after the storm. And you needn’t worry about walking; you can ride Henry.” Jenna patted the horse on his shoulder, an advance apology.

  “I do not ride pack mules,” Lady Lucia huffed.

  “Well”—Jenna bristled—“it may be a difficult night for you, then, and I wish you luck surviving it.” Jenna spurred Henry forward. For one fleeting moment she thought how she’d actually be doing Lord Pembroke a favor by allowing the spoilt woman to remain here, stubbornly on her own, succumbing to a frozen demise.

  But then she paused. This young woman was the idiot. Was she truly so dense as to believe she could survive the night in a coach during a snowfall? She was turning back when Lady Lucia poked her head out the open window. “Wait!”

  Jenna turned the horse and walked him back to the carriage. “Milady, we need to go. The choice is to either walk or ride my pack mule. Henry is loaded as it is, and cannot carry both of us.”

  Lady Lucia stretched a hesitant foot out of the carriage and onto the first step.

  “Have you no walking shoes?” Jenna gaped at her ridiculous footwear. A delicate leather sole and a tiny, perilous-looking heel. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’ll have to ride. There’s no way you’ll get anywhere in those things.”

  It took a while to get Lady Lucia and her bulky fur blanket into the saddle, as the lady did not care for horses and stated so with great regularity. It took longer for Jenna to make it clear they would not take anything other than her person. Lucia griped at the injustice of leaving her myriad private possessions.

  Henry remained wild-eyed and fearful of the other animal he was now forced to carry, and continued to sidestep in an attempt to see over his shoulder. But Jenna’s hold on his rein was firm, and she pulled his attentions forward and down the path through the snow. After three quarters of an hour, Jenna halted the horse.

  “We have to stop,” she announced, raising her voice above the wind. She was covered in snow and fearful of losing her way. “I think I see the lights of a cotter’s farm, and I’m going to ask for shelter for the night. We won’t make it home at this point, that’s certain.”

  “Is it a villa?”

  “A villa?” Jenna repeated.

  “Sí. Grandioso casa?”

  “Is what a villa?”

  “The farm! Is a farm the same thing as a villa?”

  Jenna snorted and bit down on the insides of her cheeks. “Yes. Exactly. There will be servants, featherbeds, and massive amounts of hot food.”

  “Benissimo. I would step inside nothing less. And they must have good wi—” Lady Lucia abruptly stopped speaking and let out a piercing scream. Jenna turned around in time to see Henry’s ears flatten, the whites of his eyes flash, and his front legs rear in an attempt to shake off the frightful burden wriggling on his back. He was successful.

  The horse took off, spooked, and squealing almost as loudly as Lady Lucia had. She’d landed in a bundle of fur and snow, shrieking Sicilian insults at the second male to abandon her today.

  Jenna rushed over. “Milady, are you all right? What happened?”

  Lady Lucia spit long locks of her hair out of her mouth and sat up. “Your stupid mule threw me off—that is what happened!”

  “I meant what happened to make you scream?”

  She flung an accusatory finger to the sky. “The snow—it fell inside . . . onto my skin!”

  Jenna stared at her. “What? The snow touched you and you felt the need to scream?”

  “It is cold and I don’t like it.”

  Jenna thought she might scream herself, but took in a deep breath of icy air and searched around for Henry. She could hear him snorting and stamping the ground in the woods not far away. She whistled for him and turned to Lady Lucia, shouting above the growing wind. “Get up. You need to get back on Henry. More important, we need to get out of the storm.”

  Lady Lucia grumbled but found her feet, while Jenna whistled again for Henry. The horse pranced at a distance, eyes wild and white in the dark. He refused to come any closer. Jenna shook her head and shouted, “You’ll have to walk. It’s not that far.”

  Lady Lucia balked. “What? Never. How can I walk in this?”

  “Let’s go!”

  “Wait. Give me your shoes.”

  Jenna was at her wits’ end. “You’ve got to be mad.”

  “No. It is the only way. My feet are not used to this cold, but yours . . .”

  Jenna wanted to choke her. She flipped her skirt up and reached for her dirk.

  Lady Lucia backed up, crying, “What are you doing?”

  Jenna reached for the large fur blanket Lucia had rewrapped herself in and yanked it off her shoulders. “Step aside,” she said icily. Ignoring the young woman’s whimpering protests, Jenna laid the fur on the ground and sliced off two ragged squares. “Put your feet in the center.” Lady Lucia did so with mild suspicion. Jenna wrapped the fur around the girl’s feet, ripped off a length of leather cord at her waist and the piece holding back her hair, and bound the fur around Lady Lucia’s calves. She stood up, brushed the snow from her skirts, and said through clenched teeth, “Now walk.”

  They did. But the light was impossible to find. One moment it was directly in front of them, then for an agonizing few minutes, obscured by the squalling snow. When it reappeared, it was farther away and on their left—or their right, but never where Jenna thought it should be. The wind whipped from all directions.

  After thirty minutes, Lady Lucia threw herself to her knees. “I cannot go on. . . . I must rest. . . . I am too cold. . . . We shall die! We are going to die!”

  Jenna whirled to grab the girl by the shoulders, seizing two fistfuls of fur and probably little else. She shook what she held viciously. “Get up!”

  “I cannot.” She wept.

  “Fine. Then know this. We will not die. You will die.”

  “When you reach the villa . . . send them out to find me.”

  Jenna wanted to turn and leave her. Henry whinnied in protest a distance away. She knew she had to get them all to shelter or they truly would die. All of them. She looked at Lady Lucia, her pale face, her loss of resolve. Something had to be done. They were so close. Jenna took a bracing breath, raised her hand, and slapped the girl across the face as hard as she could.

  Lady Lucia’s eyes went wide. Her tiny white teeth revealed themselves beneath two curling lips. Jenna guessed there would be an outline of her handprint across her cheek.

  The young woman growled, “You have just slapped a lady!”

  Jenna blanched and felt the blood drop to her feet. “I’m sorry, milady! It’s just—”

  “You will pay for this,” Lady Lucia said evenly.

  She would, Jenna thought. If they came out of this alive, Jenna would be drawn and quartered by her father before sundown. The icy snow scraped across her skin, raw and biting, and she peered through the blinding snow, desperate to find Henry. She heard his fervent whinnying. “Henry!” she called, “Oh, for God’s sake, where are you?”

  “Well, I never. . . .” A large hand landed on Jenna’s shoulder and she spun to see the rosy, weathered face of an old man staring down at her.

  Jenna nearly burst with relief. “Oh, thank God,” she cried, her lungs ragged and desperate
. “Sir . . . we’ve been searching . . . for shelter. We are lost. . . .”

  Jenna looked at Lady Lucia, whose hair was covered in white, crystals clinging to her pale, delicate skin. They needed to get inside.

  “Please . . . ,” Jenna begged the man.

  He pointed to a door six paces from where they stood.

  “Take her, please.” Jenna gave the man a beseeching look. “I’ve got to find my horse. Do you have a barn?”

  Again the man pointed. “Your horse is standing by it. That’s how I come to find you. Heard his bellowing, then yours.” The man, covered with snow, picked up a rough length of knotted rope and put it in Jenna’s frozen hands. “I’ve tied it to the doors of both barn and house. Don’t lose it, for I’ll not be out to seek you.”

  Jenna followed the rope, and did find Henry at the barn door, none too pleased. She unloaded the horse and settled him in a stall next to an aging dappled mare. She rummaged through the saddlebags, looking for something to give the man in exchange for the night’s lodging. She’d decided on a bottle of whisky from the several she’d been asked to bring back. Her father would be upset had she not offered something as recompense.

  After bringing Henry water and a meager bucket of oats from the rough sack hanging on the wall, she ruffled his ears, apologized, and wished him a good night. He murmured softly at her in between mouthfuls of his supper. Jenna left the stable and found the rope. She braced herself against the snow and wind, and soon arrived at the door to the house on the other end.

  She pushed through the cotter’s door and found a woman’s shriveled face, peeking from beneath several layers of worn knitted shawls. Beyond her was the elderly man, arching a white eyebrow that sprouted more hair than the top of his head.

  The woman opened her mouth to speak, revealing toothless gums, and grunted while pointing toward the meager fireplace. Jenna discovered Lady Lucia, stretched out on a straw tick bed, placed in front of the fire. The fur she’d been using as a cloak was beneath her, and her deep saffron–colored silk dress was spread out in golden waves about her legs. The makeshift boots Jenna had fashioned remained strapped to her feet. She looked pale and distressed. The old woman looked up at Jenna, her eyes asking for an explanation of what lay before her.