The Captain pushed his way between us, took himself over to the corner— the furthest he could get from me – and slumped into a chair. He turned to face the wall, tipped back and folded his arms, while I stormed off to the little stool in the opposite corner, seething with fury at being manhandled and thrown about like a drunk in a tavern brawl.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Hugh tried to make conversation. "I wonder when mother will return? Lord, I’m ravenous!"
From his shadowy corner the Captain snapped, "Have you no initiative? You brought that woman in here. Show her the pantry. Put her to work."
Oh, he knew how to goad my temper, but I bit my tongue and kept my hot head pressed to the cool stone. Another draft swept around my ankles. The door to the staircase moved again, the iron latch clicking. Something was out there, waiting on the stairs, listening, breathing, watching, entertained by us, perhaps. I thought I heard a soft, halting, breathless laugh.
Hugh came toward me. "Make us some luncheon, Strumpet." He prodded me away from the wall and down a step into their pantry. "Best make yourself useful, or we might roast you on the spit."
He left me there amid the dark jars of pickled things, like apothecaries’ specimens, and several baskets of rotting fruit. I thought of their father, jealously guarding his orchards and chasing me off with a pitchfork, too miserly to share his bounty, even when it would otherwise be wasted.
"Have you ever seen eyes like that?" Hugh was saying.
"Two damned spying eyes," the Captain muttered. "Ought to be plucked out."
Peering through the crack in the pantry door, I watched him sweep out of that chair and lurch up and down. The air prickled with his restless anger, the walls feeding greedily on the tension, the seething pent-up frustration; layers of it surrounded me, hot and smothering. Something had got him in a very bad temper indeed. I could not imagine what.
"Do you think it’s true? That old Sydney sends her here to spy?" asked Hugh casually.
The Captain jerked his head toward the pantry. "I’ll make her tell me why she’s here." He started toward the pantry door, fingers flexing.
I slammed the door on his ugly face. There was no bolt inside, but the frame was warped and, on such a damp day, the door stuck. Having won myself a brief reprieve, I looked about anxiously for an escape route. Seconds later the door was kicked open, and I was caught in a most undignified position, wedged securely in the small window frame.
"I am stuck, villains!" I cried.
To which the Captain replied, "You will come unstuck in a day or so, without food." And they both chuckled, finding something to agree upon at last.
But after some heaving and groaning, I was extracted from the window and it was speedily decided that Hugh should deliver me to the Keep. Not wishing to be bothered himself, the brave, seafaring adventurer, Captain Lackwit, considered me far too dangerous to be left to my own devices, even such a short distance.
* * * *
We were not far along the lane, before Hugh drew his horse to a halt.
"You were better company before, Strumpet. Has my brother frightened the wits out of you?"
"He is the most ill-tempered fellow I ever met," I replied.
"Because he lives his life by those rules, of which he’s so fond, and lets duty dictate his fate." He smiled over his shoulder. "He is not like you and I. We are free spirits. I recognized it the moment we met."
And I recognized an insufferable flirt. But why should I not enjoy his smiles? Lately, all I ever received were insults, aspersions cast against my innocent intentions, and threats of bodily harm. His charm would be a welcome change, however deliberate.
Mirroring my own thoughts, he said, "It would be a great pity, to waste the summer." We rode on and then he added, "I thought we might be friends, but you must tell me at once if it is not to be. I am not in the habit of waiting for ladies to make up their minds." He kept his eyes on the way ahead, so I was free to study the nape of his neck, where the dark, rich brown hair lay against his skin. Again he smelled of wood smoke and some unfamiliar spice that wormed its way inside my veins like sly poison. I could hardly be blamed for wavering, having lived three years in my uncle’s fortress, with nothing but whining women and pious do-gooders to lecture me.
So I accepted the offer of his friendship. As for my reasons – those I have accounted for, but why did he chose to befriend me? I supposed he was an educated man of the world; undoubtedly he saw in me all the value simpler folk could not recognize. So it pleased me to imagine.
"I have something for you," he said. Reaching into his doublet, he drew out a folded letter. "My brother’s reply to the redhead. We can hardly let the lady be disappointed, can we?" His eyes were aglow with mischief. "I used my time wisely while you were above stairs."
"You are a wicked scoundrel, Hugh Carver."
"Birds of a feather, Strumpet."
Gladly, I reached for the letter and his friendship. It would be a very pleasant change to have a companion who was not only exceeding sweet on the eye, but who was also a fellow adventurer and not a sniveling, cowardly ingrate.
Thus my pride, wounded by one brother, was soothed by the other.
* * * *
So the first sword was swung. Captain Will Carver, my pirate, had finally come. He did not know then, that he was at the mercy of my quill, but he must have suspected that something here was at work, something over which he had no control.
At night, while my cousins snored in the bed beside me, I continued his adventures, my pen traveling by the wavering light of a candle stump. Now that I’d seen him in the flesh, the story came ever more speedily, the descriptions complete and true. No other man could have filled the role, in fact, I mused, feeling the warmth in my face, he was beyond expectation in many ways.
Now we are at the top of a new page. What will happen next?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hugh and I met every day in the pines to read my cousin’s letters to "Dear Sir" and then compose a reply. When I knelt beside him, reading those letters, and he laughed unguardedly, it gave me a thrill as few things ever had. He said he'd never met a young woman with so little artifice in her manner and I was flattered by the attention he paid to me. I cannot deny it.
Whenever we met, I brought my writing materials in the same wooden box that carried all my "treasures". Hugh wanted to know what else I kept in that box, but I would not tell him that and I wouldn't let him see inside it. This, I think, intrigued him all the more. Was that why I did it?
He called me a doubting, prickly wench and said it was no wonder his brother did not want to marry me now after all. I replied that I was intensely glad of it. When he sneered, disbelieving aloud that any young woman would choose to remain unmarried, I declared that I would rather be a mistress, than a wife. "Then I could lie abed all day, never get dressed in corsets, but eat marchpane comfits and drink a great deal of wine," I added.
At this he laughed even louder than usual. "You are a caution, Strumpet! But I understand you."
I looked at him skeptically. "Surely I am not entitled to such an opinion?"
"You, my Strumpet, may have all the opinions you want."
It was the first time a man, or indeed anyone, had told me I could have something I wanted.
Once day amid the thick, lush scents of the pine trees, he decided to take his chance on a kiss. I allowed it, as much for the sake of curiosity as any other reason. It was warm, curiously spiced. Before I knew it, he had pushed me down in the bed of pine needles and moss, clearly intent on more than a kiss.
My mind was surprisingly calm as I felt his hand explore my bodice, searching for a route inside, through ribbons and laces. Did I want this to occur her and now? With him? He was handsome, sweetly obliging, witty company. But if I gave him this much, what next? He took me for a naive country maid, with no idea of my previous experiences in the world. No doubt asking me any questions about my past would spoil his pleasure in the present.
&n
bsp; "Wait!" I managed finally, wriggling beneath him.
He paid me no heed, but continued his wet kisses across my cheek until I felt as if one of my uncle's great hounds had assaulted me and wrestled me to the ground. I might have been forced to put up with fumbling discomfort when my former, despicable husband required it, but there was no such contract between Hugh and I
"Stop!" Only when my knee contacted sharply with his groin, did he fall back, cursing. I sat up, readjusting my bodice. "Sakes, do men never listen?"
"One thing no man will tolerate from you," he muttered breathlessly, "is teasing."
On my knees now, I upbraided him. "I suppose ‘tis all you Carvers are good for."
For once he forgot his charming smile, too furious it seemed. "I’ll show you what you’re good for!"
I did not wait to find out, but took off stumbling through the tall pines, while he gave chase seconds after. "The further you make me chase you, the harsher the punishment, when I run you to ground."
The afternoon sun fell in long shafts between the branches, tall waterfalls showering the path with handfuls of emerald chips. The fresh scent of the pines filled my nostrils and lay heavy in the back of my throat. I heard him trip over a tree root and then he gave up, falling against the trunk, sweat dripping from his brow. When I stopped, I saw that he was laughing, even as he choked for breath.
"I have not run like that since I was a boy chasing coneys," he muttered.
The breeze rustled and whispered overhead, the sun warm, but soft, under the tall canopy of pines. I was suddenly glad I'd made him chase me, made him sweat. Perhaps he realized now that he wanted me more than he thought he did. Before this I was a casual conquest to him, like any other he might enjoy during a summer in the country. But I was determined there would be nothing casual or careless in this affair between us. If he wanted me, this time I would get something out of it too.
I strolled back to where he leaned against the tree. "Best save your breath, Hugh. You will never catch me."
When he reached for my swinging arm, I let him capture my sleeve, then my hand. "I concede defeat, Genevieve. See how you make my heart race?" He brought my fingers to his chest, under his doublet.
"All that rich food and fine living at court makes you fat and slow," I said, adding with a teasing smile, "I daresay your brother would catch me."
That sharp spur prodded his temper again. I knew already that there was a strong competitive streak between the brothers Carver. "You have said enough today," he exclaimed heatedly. "Your chatter puts me off."
Once more he pulled me into an embrace against the tree, the rough bark catching at my hair, which was matted now with pine needles.
"Genevieve," he groaned, one hand pressed to my breast, his long fingers stroking my skin above the bodice. "You tease and torment me intolerably."
"We must have an agreement between us first," I said firmly, holding his wrist and pulling his hand away.
"I do not understand."
"Take me with you, when you return to London."
From what I saw of Hugh’s life it was blissfully uncomplicated, like that of many young men at King Henry's court, and I was sure he had every intention of letting it remain so. I wished only for the same freedom in my own life, but I was practical enough to know my limitations as a female. I could travel nowhere without a man at my side. Since Hugh had a fear of weighty baggage, he would be the perfect escort, while expecting nothing but the exchange of a few pleasurable interludes in return.
While he stared at me with dark, thoughtful yes, I added cheerily, "I hear London is a place of many opportunities."
"And what do you plan to do there?"
"Worry not, Hugh, I will want nothing from you but companionship on the journey."
He looked down at his feet and then up at the swaying canopy of sun-lined leaves and needles. "You like things your way, eh? On your terms?"
"Oh, yes."
"And this companionship?"
I shrugged. "Whatever you desire it to be." We were two adults, I reasoned. We should be able to do as we pleased. If I did not escape my uncle's fortress soon, he would probably find some other man for me to marry. Time was running out. Better I make my own way in the world, however I could.
"So you like things on your terms," he said.
"Yes," I replied, unapologetic. "Does not everyone?"
Finally he smiled. "As you wish," he said with an easy shrug. "Why not?" But apparently he accepted some large sign of my gratitude at his, for when I merely nodded, he exclaimed crossly, "Content now? You make the most of my desire for you. It seems you take after your scheming uncle after all."
I changed the subject, hoping to amend his mood likewise. "We still have a letter to write to Bagobones."
Brushing down his doublet, he snapped, "With all your demands, you put me in too bad a mood to write love letters."
"But my cousin will expect it."
"She must cope with her disappointment. For sure, it will not be her last." He walked away, lengthening his stride. Eventually I followed him.
"I suppose it is rather a callous thing to keep leading her along. It would be as well to stop now."
He came to a halt, turned to look at me and said coldly, "The letters must continue. It will run its course eventually, like all romances."
As I frowned, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear, he softened a little. "Come then, let us write this letter," he said. And his hand went to his belly where he must still feel the little scratch from my knife. His eyes were cool, but not settled, not calmed. "I have very little coin, you know," he said. "How do you expect me to keep you in London?"
"I have my own sources."
He looked skeptical, so I felt obliged to show him inside my writing box, to where I kept my collection of acquired trinkets that would surely fetch a good sum and at least pay partially for my passage at his side.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Captain Carver was often at the forge, he and Tewke, the blacksmith’s apprentice, soon becoming good friends. Inevitably there were occasions when I saw him there. Had the Captain deliberately gone out of his way to run into me, it could not have happened more frequently.
One day, when I dawdled in with a loud, sing-song greeting for the blacksmith, I did not immediately notice the villainous pirate's presence. Hanging over the anvil to get Tewke's attention, I yelled, "Have you seen…?" And then I saw the quick, sideways flick of his solemn brown eyes and I realized he was not there alone. "Have you seen Tilda?"
"No, I’ve not," he replied gruffly. "Mind out now. I’ve work to do and customers to do it for."
At this, I turned, pretending I hadn't seen him there. "Captain Carver. You again."
"Madam," the object of my scorn replied drearily. "Always a pleasure."
I returned my attention to the blacksmith. "Tilda complains of late that I have no time for her and yet, when I come, she is not to be found."
Tewke observed me with doubt and amusement simmering over his dark, sweating face. "I never thought you’d trade poor Tilda’s friendship for the likes o’ some feller."
It felt as if someone pulled out my cork. I knew the color drained from my face. "I never thought you listened to gossip, Tewke."
Somewhere behind me I heard the Captain's knuckles cracking. Tewke looked over at the man in the corner. "Women, eh, Captain? What shall we do with ‘em?"
"Take them over our knees," came the low reply, "and give them a taste of the willow switch."
I swung around, glaring.
The Captain leaned forward, his body poised on the edge of that chair.
Fumbling behind me, I found the blacksmith's mallet and lifted it in both hands. "I am prepared for you, Captain," I warned. "Take me on if you dare." Unfortunately, the mallet slipped out of my hands and landed on my toe. The Captain stood creakily, stifling a chuckle, and bade me take his chair. I made some resistance, but only a token, for my foot throbbed and even I was forced to lower my pride.
One clog kicked off, I studied my poor foot. The injury was not enough to stop my tongue, however. That continued unabated. "No doubt you see violence as the only method to be used on a woman."
Crouching before me quite suddenly, the Captain lifted my foot to his thigh and gently proceeded to rub the smarting toes.
"Some men," I continued, scowling down at him, "believe women are a danger to themselves unless they are kept in cages …or shackles…or scold’s bridles."
"What else would you recommend?" He considered me guardedly, still rubbing my luckless foot. "Scrapper."
"Why do you dislike women so?" I demanded.
"I never said I disliked them. They have their uses, once they learn their place."
"And where might that be?"
He looked up. "If you must ask that, your last husband was lacking." A slow smile turned up one corner of his lips, making his thoughts and his meaning plain.
Tewke laughed, no doubt amused to see me silenced for once, but it was interrupted by the arrival of Hugh Carver, who stepped out of the sun with a cheery smile. A brief struggle followed, while I hastily tried to reclaim my foot and the Captain held my ankle with rigid fingers as if he meant to keep it. Finally, his tentative good humor seemingly gone, he released me.
There was now a distinct chill in the air. Hugh’s well-used smile sagged, his eyes hardened. "What brings you out, Aloysius?"
"What brings you out, little brother?"
"Thought I should have Tewke look at Tyrant’s front shoe. Something seems amiss with his gait."
Will said, "I’ll take a look, shall I?"
"’Tis naught. You know how Tyrant sees ghosts occasionally. Probably just feeling feisty." Hugh grinned at me in a sly way. "Where are you off to?"
"I was supposed to meet a friend," I answered curtly, his brother's eyes slicing into me, leaving my skin with the burn of ice. "But they are late," I added.
"Ah! Well, I am certain it must have been something important, to keep them from your company." He glanced quickly at his brother to see if he still listened, but the Captain looked not at him; his eyes were on me still, as if I was the only one present. In the side of my vision Tewke was moving his sharper tools out of the way.
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