His Runaway Maiden

by June Francis

  Rosamund prayed that he was still alive. It would have been far better for her never to have known that Harry had not drowned all those years ago than to discover now, after having such hopes of being reunited with him, that he was dead after all. She felt a lump in her throat and tears pricked the back of her eyes. She needed to talk to Master Nilsson about this matter, but no doubt he was thinking of Ingrid. Perhaps he was full of hope that they could be lovers again, now he believed her innocent of betraying him with Harry.

  If only Rosamund had know it was she that was much on Alex’s mind, then she might have felt much more cheerful. As he immersed himself in hot water and rested a leg on the rim of the wooden tub, he had been shocked to realise that he no longer wanted Ingrid. He had spent too many months thinking of her with Harry and feeling hurt. Of course, there were questions he needed to ask her, but somehow during the last week or more he had become accustomed to Mistress Appleby’s company. He thought how enjoyable it would be sharing a large tub with her. But there was no way that he could have Harry’s sister as his mistress. A pity, but there it was. He had promised to find Harry for her and he meant to keep his promise. There was still the matter of the message he had been sent and only Harry could explain that away.

  Alex soaped an aching thigh muscle and imagined Mistress Appleby performing the task. He realised that he was obsessing over her now it was in the open that he knew her for a woman. They were going to have to be careful what they said when they reached Lady Elizabeth’s mansion. If she was to suspect that they had spent nights together, unchaperoned, she would think the worst. They had to dissuade her from such thoughts. He found himself considering telling her ladyship that he had enlisted Mistress Appleby as one of his spies. She would be useful at court with her gift of self-effacement, whilst keeping her eyes and ears open. He could guess what she would make of that notion. In his mind’s eye he could see her pretty mouth falling open and those blue-violet eyes of hers widening in astonishment. ‘You jest, Master Nilsson,’ she would blurt out.

  He grinned, imagining himself silencing her protestations by kissing those luscious lips. He recalled the feel of her satiny skin beneath his fingers and the swell of her breasts against his chest as they lay in the snow. A definite stirring in his loins caused him to cut short such imaginings and reach for the cold-water jug.

  That night when Alex fell asleep he dreamed that he and Mistress Appleby were making love. Afterwards he decked her out in silks and satins and velvet and the best amber jewellery from his country. He woke up with the words running in his head: I give you a choice. You either marry me or be my lover spy. It was then he realised just how desperate he was not to be parted from her and had to remind himself that he had once felt the same about Ingrid and that he no longer loved her.

  Rosamund had also been dreaming, but hers were dark ones of her brother drowning and crying out to her to rescue him. She woke with tears on her cheeks and got out of bed and down on her knees and prayed that he was still alive and she would see him again.

  She felt better after that and fell asleep once more. This time in her dream she was wearing a dark blue gown and on her raven hair she wore a silver circlet encrusted with gemstones of amber. Master Nilsson was facing her as he placed a ring on her finger. Strangely he was wearing a saffron-dyed tunic and a soft leather jerkin, but on his flaxen head he also wore a silver circlet. He was smiling tenderly down at her and then suddenly he vanished and in his place was her stepbrother’s snarling face.

  She woke in terror and this time she did not go back to sleep. She wondered what the dream could mean. No doubt her stepmother would have said it was a sign of her madness. On shaky legs, she went over to the window and drew back the curtain and peered outside. Daylight had come and the sun glistened on the snow in the yard. Her heart lifted and she told herself that she would believe that Harry was still alive. As she gazed down into the yard she saw Master Nilsson tending his horse.

  The sight of him reassured her, but she could not help wondering if he had made time to go and take a look at her stepbrother’s residence What had Edward and Ingrid been doing inside the Steel Yard? She must ask Master Nilsson what it was like on the other side of those high walls.

  She moved away from the window and looked at the garments that she had placed on a chair before getting into bed, without having made the effort to try any of them on. She removed the robe that she had slept in and hastened to cover her nakedness with a cream, woollen under-gown. The feel of the soft, warm fabric gave her a frisson of pleasure. She pulled on the blue gown over it and the sensation when the skirts brushed her calves as she twirled round made her want to dance. The sleeves were puffed about her upper arms, but gathered tightly in a band just below the elbow, where they puffed out again to be gathered in embroidered bands at the wrists. She stretched forth her arms and did another twirl.

  Then she frowned. What was she thinking of? She could only have this gown if Master Nilsson loaned her the money and loans had to be paid back. But she was going to have to wear a gown if she were to go with him to Lady Elizabeth’s house, so she was going to have to accept being further in debt to him.

  Having made that decision, she tried on several more gowns. She dithered over whether to take the dark blue one, but remembered what he had said about the colour matching her eyes. She selected another two gowns, one green and one saffron yellow, before also trying on stockings, garters, a couple of hats, shoes and boots.

  She was combing her hair when there came a knock on the door.

  ‘Mistress Appleby, are you awake? We must make haste.’

  Her pulses raced. ‘Aye. I am almost ready, Master Nilsson.’

  ‘You have chosen some gowns to take with you?’ he asked.

  Rosamund hesitated and then opened the door. She caught a whiff of almond-and-honey soap and noticed he was clean shaven. His tawny hair curled about his ears and he had changed his garments and now wore a cream linen shirt beneath a russet doublet; his well-formed legs were clad in red hose. Her senses were roused; she realised that not only did she still want him to kiss her, but that she was desperate for his approval of her appearance.

  Alex’s breath caught in his throat at the anxiety in her eyes and he wanted to punch those who had given her such a low opinion of herself. ‘Blue is a colour you should wear often,’ he said, taking one of her hands and twirling her round. ‘How lovely you look.’ He felt some of the tension leave her and her obvious delight made him want to reassure her by taking her in his arms and kissing her. But he knew that he must keep a rein on his passions.

  ‘You can have no notion of how different I feel wearing such a gown,’ she said shyly.

  ‘Your eyes are like sapphires. I scarcely recognise you as the same person who rode me down near Appleby Manor,’ he teased.

  ‘That seems so long ago now,’ said Rosamund, blushing. ‘But you must go downstairs, Master Nilsson. There is no need for you to wait for me. I will be down as soon as I have tidied my hair.’

  ‘I am content to wait for you.’ He released her hand and went over to the dressing table and picked up a net of silken blue threads. ‘What a pretty trifle this is. You will wear it?’ Rosamund eyed the hairnet and agreed that it was indeed pretty. He handed it to her. ‘Have you chosen other gowns to take with you?’

  ‘I have picked another two,’ she answered, ‘that is, if you are willing to fund me to that extent? I need boots and shoes and other fripperies, as well.’

  ‘Of course I am willing.’ He picked up the cloaks hanging over the back of the chair. ‘You will have these?’

  Rosamund gave them a fleeting glance. ‘I need only one.’

  Alex placed a fur-lined blue velvet cloak about her shoulders. ‘Now how does that feel?’

  Rosamund had noticed the cloak earlier, but had deemed it too costly to try on. Now she could not resist stroking the blue pile. ‘I have never worn velvet before.’

  ‘You will need a brooch to fasten it as it has no
ties,’ said Alex.

  ‘I do not have a brooch.’ She made to remove the cloak, but he stayed her with a hand.

  ‘I have a brooch you can use. Please accept this cloak as a gift. I know you do not wish to be beholden to me, but I would like to see you wearing it.’

  She would have refused him, only he lifted a fold of the material and brushed it against her cheek. ‘Imagine wearing such a cloak in your stepmother’s presence. Picture her gnashing her teeth in envy and fury.’

  A faint smile replaced Rosamund’s serious expression. ‘You tempt me, Master Nilsson. But I cannot wear it now—it is an evening cloak.’

  ‘Then wear this brown woollen one for travelling and we will take the blue one with us. Now tidy your hair and let us be on our way.’

  Rosamund submitted to his will. When Harry returned, she felt certain he would willingly pay her debts. She pinned up her hair beneath the blue silk net, whilst Alex neatly folded the garments she had chosen.

  She followed him downstairs and into the parlour where Maud and Walther were eating breakfast in front of the fire. Walther said something in Swedish to Alex, but it was Maud who translated his words. ‘My husband says how lovely you are and I agree with him. You will have some bread and honey and ale?’

  Rosamund thanked her, and was shown to the table. Maud left her for a moment, but she was soon joined by Alex and Walther. Whilst their host poured ale into drinking vessels, Alex produced a silver brooch from a pouch. He handed it to Rosamund and she gazed at it with interest because its design was unusual.

  ‘What does it symbolise?’ she asked. ‘It looks like Christ’s cross, only…’

  ‘It was once an amulet of Thor’s hammer,’ said Alex. ‘As you can see, it has been made into a cross in the form of a brooch.’

  ‘You must value it highly,’ she said.

  He hesitated. ‘It belonged to Harry. I bent to pick it up and it was then that I was attacked from behind.’

  She paled. ‘You’ve kept this because you believe it is evidence against my brother?’

  Alex shrugged. ‘I kept it because I did not wish to be rid of it. You can keep it.’

  She was greatly moved by the thought of having in her possession that which had belonged to her brother. ‘Thank you. I will take care of it until I see him again.’

  At that moment Maud returned, along with a serving maid, so no more was said about the brooch.

  When the meal was over and Rosamund came to look for the bundle of clothes, there was no sign of it. She spoke to Alex about it.

  ‘Maud has tied it up with cord and it awaits us in the next chamber. We will collect it on our way out.’ He stood and helped her to her feet.

  Rosamund thanked Walther and Maud for their hospitality.

  ‘We hope all goes well with your plans and look forward to seeing you both soon,’ they said.

  Chapter Seven

  Alex and Rosamund spoke little as they rode through the streets to Lady Elizabeth’s mansion, which was situated near the Strand. Two watchmen stood on guard at the gates. Alex dismounted and spoke to them. The gates were thrown wide and a stable boy summoned to tend to the horse. Alex led Rosamund to the entrance of the house and the door was opened to them by the butler. Alex handed him a missive that he had written last night in his bedchamber. He exchanged a few words with him and, after a curious glance in Rosamund’s direction, the man showed them into a large hall and told them to wait while he informed Lady Elizabeth of their arrival.

  Rosamund’s heart was beating fast, but she did her best not to reveal her nervousness to Alex and gazed about the hall. She hoped that her godmother would recognise her. But would Rosamund remember Lady Elizabeth? Suddenly her eyes alighted on a portrait on a far wall and she hurried over to take a closer look at it.

  Alex followed her. ‘Your godmother when she was young,’ he said. ‘I recall that I once visited here with my grandfather. It had slipped my mind until I saw the house.’

  ‘Godmother was beautiful! I wonder if she has changed much.’

  ‘She is an old woman,’ said Alex in a low voice. ‘This was here when I visited as a boy.’

  ‘Her skin looks as soft as rose petals,’ she murmured.

  Alex rubbed his chin with his knuckles. ‘Aye, it is a pretty picture.’

  Rosamund darted him a sidelong glance. ‘How did your grandfather come to be invited here?’

  ‘If I remember rightly, it was due to her having visited Visby a few months previously. She had been widowed the year before and had decided she wished to travel. She commissioned some amber-and-silver jewellery to her own design. Grandfather took on the role of her agent and she asked him to deliver the commission in person. He decided it would be useful for me to visit London and so brought me along.’

  ‘I had no notion you were so long acquainted,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘The lady scarcely noticed me.’ Alex paused. ‘We need to decide what to tell Lady Elizabeth. We cannot tell her the whole truth.’

  Rosamund went over to the fire and removed her gloves. ‘If we did so, she wouldn’t want to have aught to do with me.’ She held her hands out to the flames. ‘Besides, we don’t know what else she might have been told about me during her sojourn in Lathom House except that I was ill and slightly crazed in the head.’

  ‘I do not believe you were ever crazy. Anyway, hopefully she will be sympathetic to one in your situation,’ said Alex, joining Rosamund by the fire.

  ‘I pray so. Do we admit to having met up north?’

  ‘Have you any other suggestions? I believe it is always best to stick as close to the truth as one can,’ said Alex.

  ‘I had believed my godmother dead until the day I met you,’ said Rosamund. ‘I think Father had mentioned that she was very ill some years ago. I believe he expected her to die.’ She sat down and smoothed out the kid gloves on her knee.

  Alex’s gaze rested on Rosamund’s bent head. ‘I presume your plan that day was to tell your godmother of how you were being treated at home and of your suspicion concerning the death of your father?’

  ‘Aye.’ Rosamund sighed. ‘When you told me that she had already departed for London, it placed me in somewhat of a dilemma, as you well know.’

  ‘But if you were pretending to be Master Wood, how did you plan to gain entry to Lathom House and speak to Lady Elizabeth?’

  She shrugged. ‘Does that matter now? I am more concerned about what I am to say to her when I see her.’

  He nodded. ‘We will tell her that we met outside Lathom where you discovered that she had already left for London. I told you that I was acquainted with her ladyship and intended visiting her. You decided to travel to London, so I offered you my escort as we were travelling in the same direction.’

  Rosamund shook her head. ‘It will not do. She will suspect that we travelled alone.’

  ‘Not if we can tell her that we had company on the road,’ said Alex firmly. ‘She is not to know otherwise.’

  Rosamund plucked at her skirts. ‘It sounds feasible, but you have not said what your reason was for calling at Lathom House?’

  Before Alex could answer, there was a sound behind them. They both turned to see a woman standing there. She was dressed in a plum-coloured gown and her red frizzy hair resembled a bird’s nest.

  ‘I cannot believe that at last we are to meet, Rosamund,’ she gasped with a hand to her chest.

  Rosamund realised that this lady must be her godmother and could only hope she had not overheard their conversation. She rose to her feet and went to meet her. The lady seemed to glide across the floor towards her as if on wheels. Close up, Rosamund realised that the lady’s face was painted white that gave her features a mask-like appearance. ‘Lady Elizabeth?’

  ‘Who else, my dear?’ said the lady drily. ‘I know I have altered somewhat, but it is still me beneath this paint.’

  A flushed Rosamund apologised. ‘I am delighted to see you again after all these years, Godmother.’ She dipped a curtsy a
nd then took the hand offered to help her rise.

  ‘My appearance always gives people a shock, whether it be for the first time or after an age,’ said Lady Elizabeth.

  ‘You are very understanding and I thank you for your welcome. I would have visited you at Lathom House if I’d been able to do so. But it was not easy escaping my stepmother’s domination. By the time I did so, you had already left for London,’ said Rosamund.

  ‘That woman!’ snorted Lady Elizabeth, rolling her eyes expressively. ‘I am still angry that your father put her in my dear Jane’s place.’ She looked at Alex and her eyes softened. ‘Thank you for your missive, my dear Baron. You are so like your grandfather. If you will be so kind as to be patient whilst I talk with my goddaughter, I will give you my full attention in a moment.’

  My dear Baron, thought Rosamund, puzzled by the title. She watched him remove his hat and incline his tawny head. ‘Of course, Lady Elizabeth. I understand what a pleasure it must be for you both to meet again after all these years.’

  ‘Charming,’ she said, touching his cheek with a finger before resuming her conversation with her goddaughter. ‘So that woman asserted her will over you.’

  Rosamund pulled herself together. ‘You sound as if you know the kind of woman my stepmother is,’ she said.

  Her godmother’s eyes widened. ‘My dear, your mother and I knew Monica McDonald when we were children. We all had kin living in the north.’ Lady Elizabeth sat down and waved them to a settle. ‘Jane refused to believe the rumours about Monica’s wanton behaviour because she always believed the best of people. Anyway, Monica stayed on at Appleby Manor after Jane miscarried, supposedly to nurse her.’ She sighed. ‘Well, we know what happened after that! Monica’s family was such a quarrelsome one and they were furious when she had an affair with her cousin’s husband. No doubt it was that which made it impossible for her to return home.’ She frowned. ‘The whole lot of them were unstable and I knew Monica McDonald for what she was—a greedy, conniving madam.’ She paused. ‘I have heard that her lover is a widower now, so who is to say that she might not run off with him.’ Lady Elizabeth grimaced and cracks appeared in the white paint and there was a peculiar smell.