His Runaway Maiden

by June Francis

  ‘Why are you so keen to help me?’ asked Rosamund suspiciously.

  He shrugged. ‘You are a fellow traveller and did not our Lord say we should help one another?’

  ‘You have not particularly behaved like a Christian so far,’ Rosamund dared to say. ‘But what choice do I have? I pray that you will prove to be the better of my options.’

  ‘I am truly honoured by your confidence in me,’ said Alex drily.

  Rosamund flushed and could only hope that he did not guess her secret. So far he appeared not to have penetrated her disguise and God willing he would never do so.

  ‘But any wrong moves, such as trying to remove your weapon from my belt, Master Wood, and you’re in trouble. I’m not so naïve as to believe you might not try.’

  The thought had not occurred to her. ‘I give you my word!’

  ‘The word of a liar!’ His gold-brown eyes flashed fire. ‘I will be on my guard. I have not forgotten waking up with such a headache that I could not remember where I was or who I was and had a knife wound in my shoulder that almost killed me.’

  Rosamund’s curiosity was roused. ‘Who was the person that did this to you? Perhaps you gave them such a dislike of your boorish behaviour that they feared what you might do next.’

  Alex growled, ‘Watch your mouth, lad. Ingrid knew I trusted her and that was why she was able to betray me.’ He pulled himself up short. What was he thinking of, speaking of a matter that had cut him to the heart to this—this—? He bent over her. His nose twitched as the feather in Master Wood’s hat tickled his nostrils and he sneezed, then swore. ‘I hope you are not going to make me regret my offer, but you will come to no harm, unless you give me real cause to slit your throat.’

  Rosamund went as white as a sheet beneath her dirt. ‘I will do exactly as you say,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘I like my throat as it is.’

  I must be mad, thought Alex. Gaining information from this one could cause me more trouble than it is worth. Yet he felt a monster for frightening this slender youth. Yet his brush with death six months ago had proved to him the dangers of allowing anyone to get too close to him.

  Taking a blanket from a saddlebag, he formed it into a kind of cushion. Then he told Master Wood he would give him a leg up. Rosamund placed a foot in his laced hands and gripped his shoulder. She felt his muscles bunch and thought with a man as strong as him on her side, she would not need to fear her stepfamily again. Then she asked herself what was she thinking of even to consider he could be an ally?

  As soon as she was up on the horse, Alex climbed into the saddle. ‘Now which direction do we take to reach the London road?’ he asked, thinking he would not be in this situation now if he had asked for a guide before leaving Lathom House, instead of just directions.

  ‘Take the left-hand turn,’ replied Rosamund.

  As he took the turning, she was jerked against him and needed to clutch his cloak if she was not to slide from the horse. Suddenly she felt far removed from her previous existence and excitement stirred inside her. Even so, after a while, she began to feel apprehensive and questioned whether she had made the right decision. They would be on the road for days and that meant spending nights with this man.

  ‘I want information,’ said Alex, aware of those small hands on his back and the soft breath on his neck. ‘Tell me—how did Sir James die?’

  ‘It happened when he was in London. Lady Monica told me that it was an apoplexy, but I did not believe her. Far—’ Rosamund clamped her mouth shut on the word and recalled how often she had been told to watch her tongue or keep silent and no one is going to believe what a mad girl has to say.

  ‘Why do you not believe her?’

  ‘If I say what I think, you might accuse me of being mad,’ she said in a toneless voice.

  ‘Why should I believe you mad?’ he asked.

  She did not answer him immediately, remembering vividly Edward accusing her of being possessed by demons. In her loneliness, she had created an imaginary companion to whom she talked. He had overheard her and taunted her. She had screamed her denial and flew at him. He had knocked her to the ground and then dragged her by her hair to his mother. Lady Monica had locked Rosamund in her bedchamber for three days and nights and fed her solely on dry bread and water. Rosamund had threatened that she would tell her father what they had done to her when he returned home. But her stepmother had said that Sir James would agree with their actions because he knew his daughter was mad, but pretended not to notice her strange behaviour because he was ashamed of her. So again, she had kept her mouth shut, wanting her father to love her and hoping that the next time he went away they would remember her silence and she would suffer less at their hands.

  ‘Answer me!’ demanded Alex.

  ‘If I told you that I believed he was murdered, then you might agree with them that it was a figment of my fevered imagination,’ she said in a fierce voice.

  ‘Murdered! By “them” I presume you mean those that live at Appleby Manor?’

  ‘Perhaps, but I will say no more and you cannot make me do so. Even if you were to dismount and drag me from this horse and beat me.’

  What a strange mixture was this youth, thought Alex. One moment he is frightened of me and prepared to do what I say, but the next he speaks out bravely and it is obvious that he can be stubborn. He seriously considered the possibility that the youth had been beaten before in an attempt to gain information from him or for punishment. Another thought struck him. A father might beat an effeminate son, or—even a daughter who dressed as a youth. But the thought that bothered him most was that his travelling companion suspected Sir James of having been murdered in London. Was it possible? And if so—why?

  He thought of Harry and recalled how when he had rescued him that he had been unable to remember whether he had once had siblings. Harry’s earliest memory was of the cupboard-like space on the ship, where he had woken with a sore head and a frightening loss of identity.

  Alex’s thoughts were interrupted by his sudden awareness that Master Wood must have dozed off. His head was going bump, bump, bump against his shoulder. Alex reached behind him and seized the front of the youth’s doublet and bellowed at him to rouse himself.

  Rosamund started awake and at first could not think where she was and then the motion of the horse and the scent of the man filled her nostrils. She realised that her face was squashed against his shoulder and she found herself breathing in the smell of sandalwood and his maleness with an unfamiliar pleasure. Then she realised he was holding on to the material at her chest. Feeling hot all over, she tugged herself free. What if he had felt her breast despite the binding? Her secret would be out.

  ‘Stay awake, Master Wood,’ ordered Alex. ‘What good is a sleeping guide to me?’

  Rosamund said gruffly, ‘It will not happen again.’

  ‘It had better not.’

  After that incident Rosamund made certain that she stayed awake. It amazed her that she had managed to fall asleep in such a precarious position and in the company of this foreigner who had threatened her. She forced herself to concentrate on anything but him. She gazed at the frosty landscape and recalled the only time she had travelled to London.

  It had been in the company of her father, stepmother and William. Edward was getting married and Rosamund could not help but pity his future wife, Marion. She remembered how besotted the new Mistress Fustian had been with her husband. Such adoration had not survived. Last time Marion had visited Appleby Manor with their two daughters, Rosamund had noticed the bruising on her neck and wrists. Edward wanted a son and his wife suffered for what he called her lack of success.

  It was that kind of behaviour that caused Rosamund to consider spinsterhood preferable to marrying a man such as her stepbrother, although her stepmother had once suggested such a possibility. A long-suppressed memory reared its dragon-like head and she quickly quashed it. There were some things it was better not to dwell upon and fortunately her father had been agains
t such a match.

  The temperature had dropped by the time they crossed the border into the Palatine of Chester and the sun had disappeared below the horizon. Soon it would be dark and Rosamund was worried. Surely they should have reached an inn by now, but the road stretched ahead of them with no sign of a building.

  Alex’s thoughts were running in a similar direction and he twisted in the saddle to speak to his travelling companion. He had difficulty in making out the slender features beneath the brim of the hat. ‘Have you any idea where the nearest inn is, Master Wood?’

  ‘It is some time since I passed this way,’ answered Rosamund. ‘I was certain we should have reached the one I had in mind by now, but I must be mistaken. Still, I am certain if we continue along this road then we will come to another sooner or later.’

  ‘If this is the main London road, then that is likely,’ said Alex, exacerbated. ‘I would know how far we have to go.’

  ‘I cannot help you with exact distances.’ She felt irritated by the tone of his voice. ‘We must just travel on.’

  ‘So be it,’ he growled. ‘Let us hope we don’t have to sleep in the open.’

  The idea alarmed her, but she remained silent, not wishing to annoy him further by complaining. Visions of mulled wine, hot broth and a warm bed began to float before her eyes and she was tempted to snuggle into his back to keep warm. She resisted and somehow managed to remain upright.

  They continued along the road, watching the silhouettes of trees and hedges merge into the darkness and stars prick the sky. To their dismay, when they finally reached the dark outline of a building Alex had spotted some distance away, it was to discover that it was just a burnt-out shell with charred beams criss-crossed against the sky.

  Alex dismounted and wandered about the ruins before returning to his horse. ‘There is nowhere to take shelter here. We must ride on,’ he said brusquely.

  He half-expected his companion to complain, but despite being near to tears with disappointment, hunger and weariness, Rosamund remained silent. She pulled her hood over her hat and huddled inside her cloak and prayed that they would soon come to another inn.

  The wind rose and she was glad of the bulwark his body provided. Frantically, she tried to remember whether there were any other places where they could take shelter. For a while nothing occurred to her and no inns hovered into view. At least she could be thankful that the moon had risen. By its light she noticed an odd-shaped escarpment ahead. Suddenly she remembered her father mentioning to William that there were old mine workings in the sandstone that formed the roots of this area.

  ‘Master…’ She paused remembering that the stranger had still not introduced himself, and then added, ‘No Name, I believe there are caves somewhere around here.’ Her voice sounded loud in the eerie silence. ‘If I remember rightly, copper used to be mined in this area hundreds of years ago.’

  Alex, who had been keeping his eyes peeled for even a hovel, hoped his companion was right. His horse would be too exhausted to travel the following day if they persisted on riding through the night. ‘Can you remember exactly where these caves are, Master Wood?’

  Rosamund looked up at the hill in the moonlight. ‘I did not see them myself, but I remember William being told to follow a stream and that there was a shelf of rock a little way up that hill.’

  ‘We’ll walk and give the horse a rest,’ said Alex, dismounting and holding up a hand. ‘Come, let’s not delay.’

  Rosamund placed her small hand in his and slid down from the horse and almost into his arms. Their bodies collided and she withdrew her hand hastily and stepped away from him. At least a walk would warm her up.

  ‘Stay close,’ murmured Alex, considering not for the first time the smallness of that hand. He seized his horse’s bridle and suggested Master Wood hold on to his cloak so they would not lose each other. Following the sound of running water, he ended up finding the stream by walking into it. He swore in his own tongue and added in English, ‘Step back if you do not want to get your feet wet.’

  ‘Perhaps I should have kept my mouth shut about caves,’ muttered Rosamund, certain he would be in a bad mood after getting his boot wet.

  ‘Too late now,’ growled Alex, shaking his foot. ‘Let us not give up. At least there is some moonlight to help us see the way ahead, although perhaps it is best you stay here with the horse whilst I see what I can discover.’

  Rosamund did not want to be left behind, but decided as he seemed to be trusting her with his horse, that she would do as he said.

  It was not long before he called down to her. ‘I have found a shelf of rock. Let us hope that it is the one you mentioned. Bring my horse and help me search for the caves.’

  Rosamund did not need telling twice and was soon standing next to him. They began to search, dislodging small rocks and punctuating the air with the sound of snapping twigs as they looked for an opening. She realised that she was finding a peculiar enjoyment in sharing in the search with him. She wondered what country he came from and whether he had a family waiting for him at home, worrying about him. She recalled his mention of a woman called Ingrid and deduced that, from the way he had spoken about her, that he had once been in love with her, but something had gone wrong, so it was unlikely that he had married her. Perhaps he had married someone else. If so, what was he doing in England, far away from his own country?

  It took some searching, but at last Alex found an opening and called her over. He soon discovered that he had to bend himself almost in half to get inside. The cave was pitch-black, but at least it was out of the wind; as his hands searched the rock face, he realised that the wall was gaining in height and soon he was able to stand upright. When he turned and looked towards the opening, he could see a faint light.

  ‘Shall I come inside?’ called Rosamund.

  ‘No, wait there. I will need to come out.’ His voice seemed to bounce off the walls, causing an echo.

  He felt his way to the outside and stretched. ‘We need a fire,’ he said.

  ‘You have flint and steel?’

  ‘Aye. And tinder. But we will need more kindling and twigs,’ he said.

  ‘There are plenty of them around,’ said Rosamund. ‘I will gather some up.’

  ‘Good man,’ he said, squeezing her shoulder and thinking how slender were the bones. ‘This cave will do us for the night.’

  She was warmed by his praise—she’d had little of that in her life—and set about gathering twigs. In the meantime he unfastened his saddlebags before removing his saddle and throwing a blanket over his horse. He carried both saddle and saddlebags into the cave and dumped them there before going back outside and helping gather firewood.

  When they had collected great armfuls, he told her to take her bundle inside. She obeyed him and was glad to be out of the wind despite the intense velvet blackness inside the cave. She looked towards the faint strip of light and waited for him to follow her. Feeling close to exhaustion, she sank to the ground.

  Rosamund did not have long to wait before she heard the sound of flint against steel. She saw sparks and then a flicker of light in the cave close to the entrance. Tiny flames began to curl about the tinder and she could smell burning. Then the flames grew and eventually there came the crackling of wood. Not long after, it was light enough in the cave for her to see the rosy colour of the sandstone.

  ‘You’ve done it,’ she said, relieved.

  He darted her a glance. ‘Come closer to the fire. I have a pot here and a flagon of ale that I can heat up.’

  ‘I don’t suppose you have any nutmeg and honey?’ she asked wistfully, pushing back her hood, the better to keep an eye on him. Now she could see more clearly his expression and the attractive planes and angles of his face by the light of the fire.

  ‘Then you suppose wrong,’ he said. ‘I once worked for a spice merchant and he paid me in cinnamon and nutmeg. You can have no idea how that pleased my grandmother.’ He took several items from one of the saddlebags.


  So he had a grandmother. ‘You say you once worked for a spice merchant—what do you do now to earn a living?’ she asked.

  ‘You could say that I am a jack of all trades. I enjoy travelling and turn my hand to any task to support myself,’ said Alex smoothly. ‘Are you hungry?’

  ‘Extremely so. But I had resigned myself to go hungry and thirsty this night.’

  ‘I have a little salted pork, a couple of apples and a hunk of wheaten bread and cheese.’ He smiled good humouredly. ‘A meal fit for a king if one is hungry.’

  His smile took her by surprise and she found herself returning his with one of her own and agreeing with him. He seemed less frightening, more approachable than he had done earlier. ‘If I had some money, I would buy some food from you,’ she said. ‘As it is, I left home in some haste, as I told you.’

  ‘I deem you have well earned a meal, so let us not talk of payment. We would still be out in that freezing wind if you had not remembered about this cave.’

  Rosamund flushed with pleasure at this second dose of praise. ‘We have both contributed to the comfortable place we now find ourselves in,’ she said shyly.

  The hand holding an apple in mid-air hovered there. ‘You consider this comfortable?’ He could not conceal his surprise.

  ‘We are warm and dry, are we not?’ Her tone was a little on the defensive now. ‘You have built the fire so that hopefully most of the smoke will find its way outside.’

  Alex said drily, ‘You are easily pleased, but I doubt we will be able to keep the fire burning all night.’

  ‘But the cave will hold some heat and we have our cloaks,’ said Rosamund, flinging back her own now the heat from the fire was beginning to penetrate the woollen fabric. She wanted it to get to that part of her that still felt chilled.

  Alex’s growing conviction that this youth was a woman in disguise intensified due to the delightful music in the voice that echoed around the cave. He took the knife strapped to his leg and cut an apple and offered half to his companion.