by Judith James
Her sword was light and nimble, quick and made for stabbing, and she held it at the ready, pointed toward the tall man’s throat. She saw the f licker of hesitation as he checked his advance and the glint of brute determination when he decided to charge. His reach exceeded hers, but he was clearly no trained swordsman, and he left his legs exposed. She took a step to the left and pushed his weapon off to the right, grunting with the effort, then used the opening to attack, stabbing at his groin and catching him deep in his thigh. He stepped back cursing and dropped his sword. It clattered on the ground as he grabbed his leg with both hands, trying to staunch the f low of blood.
“Damn it, Catherine, are you alright?” Jamie shouted, forgetting her disguise as he cut through his opponent’s defenses, leaving a foot-long gash from shoulder to elbow and another across his chest.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she gasped, as the one with the knife moved in. “Oh God, Jamie! I can see three more.”
His opponent was tiring rapidly from loss of blood, and as Jamie ducked the other man’s swinging club, he thrust forward, catching the swordsman through the throat. The man looked startled, then afraid, and then with a gurgle he slid to the ground. Jamie reached for Catherine and slammed her back against the wall of the building so they stood side by side instead of back to back, and looked down the street. Three more men were indeed headed their way, all of them with swords drawn.
“Take the fellow with the knife and I’ll do for the one with the club. We need them finished before the others arrive. Keep your back to the wall and mind you don’t slip in the blood. We can do this.”
“I know.”
“Good girl! That was nicely done, by the way,” he added, nodding at the rat-faced man who was now unconscious on the ground.
“Thank you.” Catherine took a deep breath and readied her sword, but their remaining two opponents had learned caution and wouldn’t comply, staying just out of reach as they waited for reinforcements to arrive. She should have been frightened. It was foolish to think they could best five armed men, three of them fresh to the battle, but she was gripped by a wild exhilaration. She’d felt it on occasion in the past, but this was different, just she and Jamie, balanced on a knife’s edge, forced to work together and trust each other to survive. They were comrades in that fierce and singular way known only to those who have fought together side by side. She turned to him with a wide grin, her eyes sparking with excitement, and he grabbed the front of her coat, pulled her close, and kissed her. It was fierce and violent and he let her go right away, but it left her heart hammering in her chest in a way the forthcoming battle had not.
“Just in case, hellcat. I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“Here now, the lad’s a lass!”
“And worth more in a battle than the two of you,” Jamie taunted, but they still wouldn’t come.
As the other men drew near, Jamie reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Ready?”
“Aye, I’m—
The loud clatter of iron-shod hooves on cobblestone made them all look up, startled as a heavy coach and four came careening around the corner and barreled down the street, heading straight for them.
“Bloody hell!” one of the newcomers shouted. Jamie pressed Catherine into a recessed doorway in the wall and the men who’d been menacing them dove out of the way, then scrambled to their feet and hared off down the alley. The vehicle screeched to a halt amidst the jingle of harness and an alarmed snorting and stamping of feet.
“Evening, governor,” the driver called back to them, doffing his cap with a spit and a grin. He had a handsome face, despite a few missing teeth and a pockmark here and there. “Name’s Johnnie Mercer. The boy here said you were in a spot of trouble and you’d be wanting a ride. Said you’d pay well, too.” He tipped his head towards the linkboy, who clung, white-faced, on the seat beside him.
“And what’s your name, lad?” Jamie asked the boy.
“Tim, sir.”
“Mr. Mercer, young Tim,” Jamie said with a deep bow. “I am indebted to you both.”
“Aye, that’d be two farthings worth to me, milord, just like you promised.”
Jamie tossed the boy a guinea. It was nearly as much money as he made in a year and more than he’d ever held in his life.
“Thank you, sir!”
“You and Mr. Mercer might well have saved our hides. You earned it, lad. If either of you ever need employment, go to the home of Lord Carlyle, south of St. James Park, and ask for Mr. Sullivan.” He threw another guinea to the coachman. “Mr. Mercer, will you take us home?”
“Be glad to, governor! For a guinea I’d carry you there on my back and treat you to dinner at me poor old mothers on the way.”
The coach was a good deal more luxurious than the hackney they’d taken earlier, and Jamie leaned back against the cushions and relaxed. He’d never been so frightened in his life. The men had been nothing more than hired ruffians, no doubt in the pay of Caroline Ware. They were untrained, brutish, and cowardly, and attacked in packs like dogs. He’d had a reasonable chance of holding his own against the four of them, but he’d feared Catherine might be harmed. Seven was a stretch, even for him. He chuckled under his breath. Damn the chit! She’d defied him and refused to f lee, but she knew her way around the business end of a sword and she’d held his back as well as any man. Damn Caro anyway! She’d pay for endangering his wife, the vindictive bitch.
“You make a fine companion, Catherine. A fellow could do worse than have you at his side.”
She wanted to say something brave and witty, but her teeth wouldn’t stop chattering long enough to let her reply.
Jamie tapped on the roof and the carriage rolled to a stop. A moment later Johnny Mercer poked his head inside.
“What can I help you with, governor?”
“Have you anything to ward off an evening’s chill, Mr. Mercer?”
“That I do, sir,” Mr. Mercer replied with a grin. After a few seconds of rummaging, he returned with a worn silver f lask. “My compliments, gentlemen. You’ll not find anything finer to warm your bellies this side of hell. Enjoy!”
Jamie passed Catherine the f lask and she took a long swallow before giving it back. The fiery liquid left a blaze of heat in her throat and belly, but it was his warmth she craved.
He pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her, and then hauled her into his lap, enfolding her tight in his arms. She made a token struggle and he shushed her. “You’re shivering, love. Let me warm you.”
A monotonous drizzle had started almost the moment they climbed into the carriage, and the steady clopping of hooves was gradually changing to a loud splashing as rain pattered against the roof. It was intimate and cozy inside the cab, and she melted against him, burrowing her head into his shoulder and holding him tight.
He kissed her temple and hugged her, clutching her as if afraid to let her go. “Try and sleep now, mouse. You’ve had a full night.”
She could hear his heart, beating slow and steady against her cheek, and she wished he’d kiss her again, but other than his blistering kiss in the alley, he made no attempt on her virtue at all. The rational part of her brain reminded her he thought her a virgin, and a stab of fear more violent than any she felt in the alley made her catch her breath. How would he react when she finally told him she wasn’t what he thought? She gave a worried moan and his fingers brushed her hair to soothe her. Damn it, why did he have to be so nice? And why can’t I keep him?
Eighteen
Catherine was in a rather peculiar mood when the coachman finally dropped them at the front door. The judicious use of Mr. Mercer’s fine medicinal brandy had calmed her fears and banished any unpleasant thoughts. She was feeling proud and cocky about her performance, both in passing as a man and as a worthy companion in a tight spot. The combined effects of copious amounts of coffee, the excitement of forbidden adventures, and an unexpected brush with death percolated through her veins, warring with physical exhaustion. She felt ex
quisitely alive and completely relaxed at the same time. All in all, it was a very pleasant feeling. She entered the house, eyes bright and shining, and skipped through the foyer, only to collapse in a parlor chair.
Sullivan appeared instantly, followed by Catherine’s little Scottish maid, who looked decidedly f lushed. Jamie looked from one to the other with curiosity, and then waved them both away. “Thank you for waiting up, but it really wasn’t necessary. You can both seek your beds. I’ll see to my wife.” He returned his attention to Catherine “I’m sorry things turned out as they did, mouse. I should never have brought you with me. It was stupid of me and I—”
“What nonsense, Jamie! I don’t know how to thank you. It was the most exciting, the most astonishing, the most magical night of my life!” Jumping up she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, giving him a brandy-soaked kiss on the cheek before plopping down again.
“God’s blood, girl! You must be the only wife in the world who’d thank her husband for taking her to a gambling hell, a whorehouse, and a brawl in the streets.”
“And you’re the only husband in the world who’d take me,” she agreed with a happy sigh. “Nothing has ever made me feel more alive, not even my first time in the rigging or my first cattle raid.”
“Good heavens, child! You’ve had an eventful youth! You must tell me all about it sometime.” He watched her as she pulled at her boot, swearing as she struggled to get it off. She certainly had a colorful store of curses. He debated going to her aid, but she presented such an enchanting picture, coat unbuttoned, hat askew, that he refrained.
“There!” she cried in triumph as her boot tumbled to the f loor. “Someday, Jamie,” she grunted as she worked at her other boot, “you must tell me all about your family.”
His mood fell f lat. “Mine’s not interesting in the least. There’s really nothing to tell.”
“I rather doubt that. You’re full of secrets, Jamie Sinclair,” she said, waving an unsteady finger at him, “and you’re always pretending to be something you’re not. I find that very interesting. I… on the other hand, am exactly what I seem, something that’s caused me no end of trouble over the years.”
The wench is far too perceptive. She took another swig of brandy and he stepped forward and relieved her of the f lask. “Perhaps you’ve had enough of Mr. Mercer’s elixir, my love. You’ve had an eventful evening. It’s time to go to bed.”
“Shouldn’t you cosset and kiss me first? I hope you’re not so cavalier with all your women.”
“Catherine… ” there was a note of warning to his voice.
She held out her hand, raising her eyebrows in expectation, and he bent and kissed it, then grasped it and pulled her up.
She swayed, unsteady on her feet. How very peculiar! She wasn’t the least bit tired. Striving to maintain her balance, she leaned against his chest. It was a nice chest. Broad and manly and… hard. Warm, too. She sighed and rested her cheek against it, listening for his heartbeat as she had in the carriage. It beat a slow and steady rhythm, a cadence of blood and life. He was alive, though men had tried to kill him. She was alive, through her own determination and skill. But what if Tim had abandoned them and Mr. Mercer had never come? An image f lashed of Jamie sprawled on the cobblestones as his life bled away amongst the puddles and filth of a London roadway. She hugged him fiercely and made no objection as he scooped her in his arms.
“Jamie?”
“Yes, love?” he asked as he climbed the stairs.
“Do you think I killed him?”
“No, little hellcat,” he lied. “You gave him a nasty scratch to be sure. No doubt he’ll have a wicked scar to remember you by, but so long as his comrades took the trouble to find him a physician he should survive.”
“You killed one.”
“That I did.”
“Does it bother you?”
“Not nearly so much as the thought of one of them killing you or me.”
“How many men have you killed?”
“Too many to count. I’ve been a soldier and a mercenary for much of my life, love. It’s what one does.”
“Does it ever bother you?”
“Not often. I seldom lose sleep over it, but… ”
“But?”
He kicked open the door to her room and sat down with her on the bed. “But whether it’s a duel or a battle or a brawl in the streets, I’ve never killed an unarmed man.” He had a vivid image of farm-boy soldiers armed with pitchforks and bent swords, and he grimaced. “Lately I’ve lost my taste for war.”
Catherine f lopped back on the bed, arms behind her head and legs dangling over the side as she kicked them back and forth. “So have I.”
“Really?” he said with a slight laugh. “I didn’t know you had one.”
“I did. It lasted all of ten minutes. Just long enough to make the crest of the hill at the River Clyde. Then there was just mud and blood and bits of people, and everyone cursing and screaming. Nothing bloody glorious about that.”
“No, love. Nothing glorious at all.” He reached out and smoothed her hair, gazing at her fondly. Dressed in sumptuous gowns she glittered like a fine gem, rivaling the greatest ladies of James’s court, but here with him, as she’d been this evening, as she was now, she was a far rarer jewel. Unthinking, he cupped her jaw and bent his head, brushing his lips feather-light against hers.
“Mmmm, that’s nice,” she murmured, moving her hands to his shoulders and trying to pull him closer.
He chuckled and gripped her wrists, pushing them back against the pillows. “Sleep now, mouse.”
“I don’t think I can. Every time I close my eyes, I’m back in that street. I want you to kiss me. Properly.”
“I did just kiss you properly.”
“Not that kind of proper, Jamie.”
“Ah… the other kind,” he said, letting go of her hands.
“Yes. You hardly ever do it. You don’t even try,” she said with a sniff.
“I was under the impression you wished me to forbear.”
“Well, I’ve changed my mind. I’m curious. You’re my husband. It’s your duty to… to show me and teach me such things.” She had a sudden image of a smiling Jamie, sprawled in an armchair like some eastern potentate in his harem, surrounded by Peg’s girls with their soft bodies and busy hands. “Unless I’m not the type of woman you prefer.”
“You’re definitely not.”
She knew it, but it hurt to hear it stated so baldly. “What? Too intelligent? Independent? Opinionated?”
“No, love, though you’re certainly all those things. The truth is I generally prefer someone else’s wife. Things are much less complicated that way.”
He patted her on the shoulder and made to get up, but she stopped him with a hand on his sleeve. Her head was clearing, and although she didn’t know what it was she wanted, she knew she didn’t want him to go. She’d never felt so close to anyone as she’d felt to him this night. He’d treated her like a younger brother, but for the kiss in the alley, yet he’d lowered a wall and shown her a glimpse of the man behind it. She’d liked what she’d seen tremendously, and she feared if she let him go now he’d put back his slightly bored, slightly jaded courtier’s persona, and she wouldn’t see her Jamie again.
“Please don’t go! I feel safe when you’re beside me. Can’t you stay until I fall asleep?” She tugged at his sleeve and he subsided, lying on his back beside her with a sigh.
“You aren’t making this easy, love.”
She knew she wasn’t. It was true she felt safe beside him, but she was also playing on his guilt and exaggerating her fear. Jamie Sinclair had formidable defenses and she needed to use every advantage if she was to breech them. “You said you’d lost your taste for war, Jamie. What will you do with yourself now?”
“Ah! Well…” he folded his hands under his head and looked up at the ceiling. “I’ve plans for a grand racing stable, my love. As fine as any in England. Charles had a fine eye for horsef les
h, you know. He was a remarkable horseman and a damn fine jockey, too, which was extraordinary for someone over six feet tall. Old Rawley, his stud, won several important races and I have one of his sons, as you recall. With your money, once you choose to give it to me,” he added with a grin, “I hope to launch a breeding operation in earnest. I’ll keep the best and race them, and sell the rest. I’m interested in breeding English stock to more hot-blooded mounts from the desert. I might even travel there to see for myself. One hears wondrous tales of the speed, endurance, and beauty of the Bedouin mares.”
Catherine closed her eyes. He sounded eager, almost boyish. She listened contentedly to the low rumble of his voice, soothed by the feel of his length beside her.
“Am I putting you to sleep?”
“No… not to sleep.” She rolled onto her side, facing him, and reached out to touch his sleeve, admitting to herself that she wanted him. It was no surprise. He was a charming, vibrant, handsome man, and she’d felt an attraction to him from the moment they’d met. What harm in a kiss? Her fingers moved tentatively along his forearm to his bicep. She could feel it, iron hard beneath the smooth fabric of his coat.
“Catherine… what are you about?”
“I’m trying to seduce you, but apparently I lack the requisite skill,” she said sourly, snatching back her hand and folding her arms across her chest.
“I’m sure you could be very skilled with a bit of practice,” he said, patting her shoulder.
“Don’t condescend!” She shrugged him off and turned her head away.
He laughed and ruff led her hair. “You’re not yourself, love. You’ve had a scare and it’s ruling you now, along with alcohol and coffee. You’ve heard of battle lust, haven’t you? It’s more than just excitement. When it seizes a man, he knows no fear, feels no pain, and loses all inhibition. While it lasts, it’s the most wonderful drug in the world. A man never feels more alive than when he dances along the precipice between life and death. Once the danger’s past, he craves it still. A rush of pleasure, a warm body, soft breath, and the pulse of blood, all these things make him know he’s still alive and make him rejoice in it.”