By Love Unveiled

by Deborah Martin

  Her abrupt acquiescence surprised, then peeved, Will. Why was it she never hopped to do what he asked?

  She rummaged in a corner of the wagon, then returned with a pot and some packets of leaves and sticks, along with a jar of honey. Dazzling Will with a brilliant smile, she prepared the pot, carefully measuring out various leaves. For a moment, he wondered what all the fuss about the tea was.

  Then Tamara passed him on her way out of the wagon to the fire. The sway of her hips absorbed his thoughts, and he didn’t think about the cinnamon tea anymore.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Though those that are betrayed

  Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor

  Stands in worse case of woe.

  —Shakespeare, Cymbeline

  Is he still asleep?” Marianne pulled on the reins as Aunt Tamara pushed through the wagon’s curtains and climbed up onto the seat beside her.

  “He’s coming around, I’m afraid. I wasn’t sure how much opium he could tolerate without tasting it in the tea.”

  “I suppose we should have left him there.”

  “Then when he awakened, he would have sought out his lordship. The man would have been on our trail immediately. With us in a mule-drawn wagon, Falkham and his great horse would have found us in a few hours’ time. This way we at least have Will under our control.”

  Marianne was skeptical about that, as skeptical as she was about Aunt Tamara’s reasons for bringing William with them. “Now we have a man to protect us,” she quipped as she adjusted the mask she’d returned to wearing.

  Aunt Tamara merely grunted.

  Marianne trained her eyes on the road ahead and wondered how many miles were between them and Garett now. “A pity William couldn’t have slept longer. He won’t be happy when he finds out—”

  “Tamara, you damned witch!” came a bellow from inside the wagon.

  Aunt Tamara grinned. “I think he’s found out.”

  “Untie me this minute!” William shouted. “Or I swear when you do, I’ll beat that sweet bottom of yours ’til you wish you’d never laid eyes on me!”

  As Marianne bit back a smile, Aunt Tamara cried into the wagon, “You’re staying put ’til we’re safe away, damn you! So hush your shouting before I stuff your mouth with a handkerchief.”

  A tense silence reigned for a long while after that. It made Marianne uneasy, especially since she felt guilty over how she’d tricked William. But she’d had no choice. Garett would have kept pressing the matter until they’d all ended up in the gaol. She couldn’t just let him lead her like a lamb to the slaughter, could she?

  Aunt Tamara had been right—trying to find out who’d framed Father had been fruitless. Marianne had simply risked the lives and futures of several people. Well, no more. If they could keep William tied up another day or two, he’d have to go so far to fetch Garett that the two men would never catch up to them before they reached the Channel, and once in France, she and Aunt Tamara would be free of Garett forever.

  She sighed. That’s what she wanted. Truly.

  Yet the memory of his mouth on hers, his hands caressing her, threatened to swamp her with regret. Fiercely, she reminded herself of how he’d looked in the upper room of the inn, his face clouded over with anger and determination, and his eyes the color of gray ice. That Garett was the man she was fleeing, not the Garett who’d showered her with sweet kisses.

  Suddenly a crash behind her rocked the wagon.

  “Fie on him,” Aunt Tamara snapped as Marianne tried to control the startled mules.

  The wagon swayed dangerously, and Aunt Tamara shifted her position. Abruptly an arm snaked through the curtains to snatch her off the seat and into the wagon’s dim confines. Marianne halted the mules, then thrust her head through the curtains.

  William sat cross-legged on the wagon floor with Aunt Tamara’s bottom settled in his lap. The rest of her flailed around the two wiry arms gripping her waist. Although she kicked and struggled furiously, William had the upper hand.

  How had he escaped his bonds? And what was she to do about it? As strong as she and Aunt Tamara were, they could never subdue William long enough to tie him up again.

  “Let me go, you brute!” Aunt Tamara beat on his arms with her fists, but it did her no good.

  William merely glared at Marianne. “What did you two sly wenches do to make me sleep?”

  Marianne swallowed. She had to convince him not to take her back to Lydgate. “It was harmless, William, really. Aunt Tamara put opium in your tea, that’s all.”

  “You should have slept longer,” Aunt Tamara bit out, giving up the fight. “But fractious man that you are, you couldn’t be reasonable. How did you get loose?”

  William shifted Aunt Tamara on his lap as if she were a sack of meal. “I was a soldier once, remember?” He thrust one leg out, and for the first time Marianne noticed the knife handle that peeked above the edge of his boot.

  Aunt Tamara saw it, too, and reached for it, but he jerked her back against him. “Not so fast, my bloodthirsty wench. I can well imagine what you’d do to me with that. I don’t like being trussed up, so I’ll just hold on to it for a bit. And you.”

  That sent Aunt Tamara into a frenzy of struggle.

  He swore under his breath. “Be still. You ain’t going nowhere yet.”

  “Please let her go,” Marianne said. “She can’t harm you now.”

  “I’ll be the judge of that. So tell me—where do you suppose you’re off to?”

  “France,” Aunt Tamara answered. “Mina and I shall put as many miles between us and that demon master of yours as possible.”

  “Was I going with you?”

  “Aye,” Marianne answered. “At least as far as the Channel. Then it’s your choice—return to Garett or stay with us.”

  Aunt Tamara snorted. “There’s no choice for him—he’s not staying with us after we reach the Channel.”

  William dropped his head to plant a quick kiss on Aunt Tamara’s head, and she turned a brilliant shade of red. “You wouldn’t want to lose me now, would you, love?” he murmured with a grin. “I could be useful to you both. You’ve need of a man to take care of things.”

  “Then you’ll go with us?” Marianne asked.

  William’s grin faded. “Nay. I must return to my master. And you at least must return with me.”

  Since William had slackened his hold on Aunt Tamara, she chose that moment to jab her elbow into his stomach.

  Though he grunted, he tightened his arms around her waist. “By my troth! Don’t you ever sit docile like a woman ought?”

  “I’ll not be docile if you carry my niece off.”

  “Besides,” Marianne put in, thinking quickly, “you can’t make us go back. There’s two of us to your one. You could return alone, but by the time you arrive, Garett will have decided you willingly helped us escape. He won’t be likely to take you back in his employ.”

  William scowled. “You’ve thought this all out, haven’t you? Trying to ruin my life after all I’ve done for you.”

  “Done for her?” Aunt Tamara fairly screeched. “You helped him keep her captive, or have you forgotten?”

  William eyed them both keenly. “Well, ’tis really of no consequence. Garett will find us before we even reach the Channel.”

  Marianne ignored a quick spurt of apprehension. “He’s hours behind us. And he stayed in town to question people. He may not even have returned to Falkham House yet.”

  Oh, Lord, she dearly hoped that was the case. William’s loud guffaw told her that he didn’t think it was.

  “The master could no more stay away from you than a wolf can stay away from a doe,” William said dryly. “He’ll be on our trail already, I warrant you. And I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when he catches up to us.”

  Aunt Tamara twisted to gaze up at him. “And how will he know which way we’ve gone, Sir Know-It-All? We could have taken a hundred different roads.”

  William shrugged. “ ’Twa
sn’t but three months past that the master tracked a man through Spain and caught up with him a week after the villain fled to Portugal. His lordship did that on a mission for the king. And he won’t give this any less attention. He’ll find us, and there’s naught you can do about it.”

  Much as she wanted to scoff at William’s words, dread stole over Marianne. Then something else he’d said caught her attention. Three months past. Three months past her father hadn’t yet been accused of trying to kill the king.

  “William, when did your master return to England?” she asked.

  The servant eyed her with suspicion. “Why do you wish to know?”

  “I can’t tell you,” she said, “but it’s important. Please. What harm is there in telling me?”

  He scowled, then sighed. “Suppose you’re right. Wait a bit and let me think… well, when we left Spain in search of his quarry, we didn’t return. We crossed the Channel from Portugal. A rocky crossing it was—”

  “When did you return?” Marianne broke in. She had to know if Garett had been in England when Father had been arrested.

  “I believe ’twas late July. Two days after my birthday.” He grinned broadly. “I told m’lord that seeing England again was the best of birthday gifts.”

  Marianne let out a breath. Garett hadn’t even been in the country when the poison had been found in Father’s medications. He hadn’t needed to be there to have treachery done, yet it seemed unlikely he would have been plotting from afar to have Father arrested, while chasing after some man in Spain.

  Aunt Tamara’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. “Enough chatter, poppet. Drive on and be quick about it. We need to gain more time on the earl.”

  With a nod, Marianne closed the curtain and started the team moving. All this time she’d assumed that Garett had returned to England with the king and the other exiles. She’d assumed that his revenge had taken so long for him to bring to pass because regaining his lands from his uncle had taken time.

  But if he hadn’t returned to England until after Father’s arrest, he couldn’t have been involved in Father’s death.

  A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her almost giddy with relief. She tried to tell herself it was because she couldn’t have endured thinking she’d allowed such a villain to take liberties with her. But the truth ran deeper. She didn’t want Garett to be a villain. She wanted him to be a man she could respect, could care for.

  She sighed as she coaxed the mules into a brisker pace. Even if he was, it changed nothing. She still had much to fear from him.

  He said he desired her, but he desired Mina, the mysterious gypsy girl, not Marianne, the suspect lady. Learning who she was would, at best, deepen his suspicions concerning his uncle and at worst force him to turn her and her aunt over to the soldiers. A man who embarked on missions for the king wouldn’t allow the daughter of a suspected traitor to go free.

  She swallowed hard, fear gripping her. He musn’t find them. He mustn’t!

  Oh, why was she worrying? Regardless of what William said, Garett couldn’t work miracles. After all, he might not even have followed them. After their confrontation that day, he might be glad to be rid of her.

  Throughout the afternoon, she clung to that hope. By the time the sun had set, her hope rose more. There’d been no sign of Garett. What’s more, the moon was full, so they could keep going for a while yet.

  If only she weren’t so tired.

  She thrust her head through the curtains to ask her aunt to take her place on the perch, only to find Aunt Tamara and William both asleep on the pallet. William’s arms cradled her, and Aunt Tamara wore a soft smile as her body curved into his. They looked so blissful in their sleep. How could she wake them?

  The mules plodded on. The wagon passed through a village with a couple of brightly lit inns. The smell of roast beef wafted from one of them, making Marianne’s mouth water. She would give anything for a hot meal instead of their cold provisions right now. And only think how wonderful it would be to sit by a warm fire and sleep in a soft bed.

  But she dared not stop with Garett possibly in pursuit.

  After reluctantly leaving the village behind, she pulled her cloak more tightly about her. For a while, the cold wind seeping beneath the wool kept her awake, but soon even that didn’t stave off sleep. If she could just lay her head on a pillow for a few minutes…

  When she awoke with a jerk, she realized she’d been dozing. But for how long? Her mask had slipped down over her nose. As she jerked it into place, she glanced around. The mules had drawn the wagon off into a meadow and were busily munching grass, and the moon was far higher than before.

  Devil take it. She must have been asleep a few hours. Thank Providence she’d awakened while it was still night.

  Then she realized what had awakened her—the sound of hooves rumbling in the distance. She seized the reins in a panic. It couldn’t be Garett, since the sound came from ahead of them, but still, the noise made it clear that more than one horse was approaching.

  A pox on’t, who would be riding the road at night? Stories of highwaymen flashed through her mind, and she opened the curtains to call into the wagon, “Someone approaches!” but William and Aunt Tamara merely grunted in their sleep.

  Frantically she tugged at the reins to urge the mules back onto the road. They wouldn’t budge from their grazing, curse them! Leaping down from the perch, she yanked on the reins in desperation, but the mules were as exhausted and hungry as she, loath to leave the pleasant meadow at the side of the road.

  Then the horsemen rounded the curve, and her heart sank. Nine well-armed soldiers rode wearily toward them. She said a silent prayer. Perhaps they would ride on without noticing the wagon. The last thing she needed was soldiers engaging in their favorite pastime of persecuting gypsies.

  But her prayer went unheeded. The moonlight clearly outlined the wagon, catching the eye of the soldier who rode at the head of the band.

  “Look here!” he called to his fellows. “ ’Tis a gypsy’s wagon. Just what we need to keep us in the captain’s good graces when we tell ’im we lost that thief. If we bring ’im some vagabonds, he might go easy on us.”

  Fading into the shadows beside the wagon, Marianne held her breath.

  “Come on, Harry,” another soldier cried. “I ain’t up for anything but a good bed and a mug of ale.”

  Unfortunately, Aunt Tamara chose that moment to thrust her head out the curtains. “What is it?”

  “Hush!” Marianne whispered, but it was too late. The soldier sighted Aunt Tamara’s hair silhouetted against the wagon’s pale curtain.

  “Oho!” the soldiers’ leader shouted, pulling his horse off the road. “ ’Tis a gypsy wench we have this time.”

  “Will!” Aunt Tamara cried as the soldiers rode into the meadow.

  But William was already out the back doors, knife in hand. The soldiers laughed when they saw his puny weapon and thin frame. Three leapt from their horses to rush him, but he fought fiercely, his wiry strength taking them by surprise. He sliced open the arm of one man, who yelped and fell back, but another jumped down to join the fray, and the lot of them finally managed to disarm him. Then two soldiers held him while one slammed his fist into William’s stomach.

  “Leave him be!” Aunt Tamara leapt down from the wagon to run blindly into the crowd of soldiers. One caught her easily about the waist.

  “Harry, you found us a good wench,” he shouted, his hands lifting to cup Aunt Tamara’s ample breasts.

  William strained helplessly against his captors with a strangled cry, which turned into a groan as a soldier hit him again and again.

  Marianne’s vision clouded with fury. Whipping her cloak about her, she stepped forth from the darkness. “Release her!” she cried.

  The men paused to stare at her. At first her cloak and mask seemed to disconcert them.

  “She’s got the smallpox,” Aunt Tamara told them quickly, accustomed to thinking on her feet.

  “T
he smallpox, eh?” The man named Harry sneered at them. “Show us the pox, and we’ll leave you be!”

  God rot him. What should she do?

  As she hesitated, Harry darted forward to grab her arm. Before she could slap him with her free hand, he jerked her around and up against him so hard that it knocked the breath out of her.

  His fingers clawed at the mask as she fought him. Then it was gone and the hood of her cloak pulled back, setting her hair free.

  “Well, lads?” Harry asked as he dragged her struggling form before the other men and yanked loose her cloak so it fell around her feet.

  Someone released a low whistle. “Faith, Harry, ’tis a bonny one ye’ve got there!”

  “Isn’t she, though?”

  His arm wrapped about her waist, and he slid a knife beneath her laces. In moments her dress came apart at the back. As the other soldiers cheered him on, he snatched away the scarf at her breasts, pushed down her stiff bodice, and squeezed one breast so hard that she cried out in pain.

  It was too much to bear. Marianne kicked at him, grimly pleased when her heel hit some part of Harry’s anatomy.

  But it wasn’t enough. With a curse, Harry threw her facedown on the ground and sat atop her, jerking her arms back painfully.

  “Little lying witch, aren’t you?” he growled. “The pox indeed! Well, then, gypsy witch, let’s see ’ow long you last the night with us. Perhaps we can teach you and your friend the right way to please a man.”

  Marianne groaned, certain she was to be crushed beneath Harry’s weight long before he could defile her. As she struggled for breath, another soldier shouted, “Harry! Someone’s coming!”

  Wonderful. Now there would be another assailant to add to their torment.

  “So?” Harry said. “He’ll go on when ’e sees it’s well-armed soldiers.”

  Marianne tried to scream, praying that whoever approached would come to their aid, but Harry forced her head down into the grass, muffling any sound.