I advised him to go away and quickly, meaning it for his own good, but, as usual, he took issue with my counsel. While we argued, two of my uncle’s creditors appeared under the gatehouse and Mary finally joined me in trying to shut the door. Since news spread regarding my uncle’s illness, a day seldom passed without creditors pulling on our bell, looking to be paid.
Overcome with curiosity, Bagobones joined us at the door, calling out spitefully, "Lady Frances, Captain Carver is here and will break down the door, if you do not come out." No sooner had she said those words, than two more unwelcome guests appeared in the courtyard; Hugh Carver with the young Lord Edmund. Now Millicent’s mood took a sharp turn. "Sakes! Do not let him in!" And she put her back to the door, lending her slight weight to the effort.
"Love soured so soon, sister?" Mary inquired.
"I meant that ghastly Edmund," she replied, screwing up her nose.
The object of her disgust called feebly for his sister, having been sent to fetch her. They were all sorry, he warbled, and the Captain would surely do as she wished. In response, Will replied that he would do only as he pleased and they had all better get accustomed to the idea. In agitation, he momentarily removed his foot from the gap. We seized our chance, pushing the door shut and bolting it. Immediately they yelled, pounding on the door. The old bolts rattled, but held. Throughout the ruckus, my uncle lay upon the settle, eyes closed. I noted, however, that he did not let out a single snore.
Broad Bess suggested we give them Frances at once, as if they were wolves and she a piece of raw meat.
Frances protested primly that the Captain must relent and promise to do as she wanted. Knowing how likely that was, I feared we would be honored with her company a great deal longer.
"I count to ten," he roared through the door. "Then I come to get you, woman."
They all assumed he was after Frances, of course. She and Millicent screamed in unison, and Mary exclaimed, "Calm yourselves! What on Earth do you think he can do to you?" Again they screamed, even louder than before, having a very good idea of what he might do, neither of them being innocent maids.
Now Hugh tried to cajole Frances out. "Franny, be sensible. Open this door; there’s a good girl."
She stepped forward, reaching for the bolt, but Mary held her back, advising the younger woman to hold her ground. Frances’ resolve was failing and she did not like having her arm pinched.
"Sister, do come out," Lord Edmund bleated sorrowfully. "My lord father insists I do not return without you, and the supper gets cold."
"Franny, what the Devil are you playing at? Open this door."
"Mistress Millicent, perhaps you could tell my sister to come out."
One voice was missing, but I knew him too well to think he’d given up. No sooner had the thought come to me, than Broad Bess shouted excitedly, "The tower! The tower! He will try to climb it, as sure as my hens lay eggs." It must have been a hundred years since anyone was mad enough to try climbing the tower, but in that moment it seemed perfectly feasible to us all that he might try.
Frances bleated, "But should we not let—"
"Do shut up," I exclaimed. "We do this for you, for pity’s sake. Where is your gumption?"
Her face became very ugly, which it clearly was quite oft, if there was no man around to see it. "How dare you speak to me like that?"
Mary Sourpout was already thrusting me toward the tower staircase and my trembling heart gathered itself into a knot, holding something within it. No flesh and blood man would go to such lengths. Only my pirate, who would stop at nothing.
I walked the steps like a woman to the scaffold and, with a heave, swung open the trapdoor. The roof of the tower lay before me, empty of all but a few pigeons. The winking sun sank slowly, spreading a bashful glow across the sky. I could see for miles; to the dancing pines and the lake beyond, to the leisurely stretch of my uncle’s fields, to Souls Dryft and its smoky chimneys, to the sprawl of villages and the capricious stream that separated them… to the top of one head, slowly appearing between the battlements. My heart opened, scattering the beat like a handful of pins.
"Have you truly no sense in that thick head of yours, Lackwit? You shall be killed."
Distant screams floated up from below as Mary Sourpout, waiting on the stairs, reported back to the others. They would be in a panic now, for sure.
"You would dance on my grave, I suppose." He climbed over the edge. "You have surely done your part to put me there." Breathing heavily, he rested his elbows on his knees.
"What are you doing here?"
"Coming for you. Did you think I would let my brother take you away from me?"
I groaned. "He told you?"
He shook his head. "My father guessed. Tom Tewke confirmed it."
And Tewke heard it from Tilda, of course. I should have known she would blab.
"This is sheer folly!" And it was, of course, but who else would go to these lengths just for me? Bathed in the rich shades of the dying sun, he was suddenly too much to look at and my heart still fumbled about, trying to gather up all its fallen pieces. I did not want to be at his mercy, yet I was.
He lurched forward in his usual clumsy manner. The strong wind blew my hair about and I cursed myself for that sinful vanity, encouraging me to wear it loose, simply because he once told me he liked it. "Say you’ll take me, Genny," he said softly. "I’ve come a long way for you, but I’ll go to the ends of time, if I must."
"Very well then," I gasped, the wind pulling my words out like a conjurer’s flags, all knotted together. "If you insist."
He was wary of my sudden acquiescence. "Sure now?"
"If you resort to these desperate measures, what choice have I?" Besides, I could not let him fall foul of Frances Percy’s evil scheming, could I? Alas, that feminine softness rose up again, and this time it would not be squashed.
He leaned down. Our lips touched. It was almost a kiss. I even tasted the ale on his breath.
"Now, Tewke! Before she changes her mind!"
Plunged into hot stuffy darkness, an old sack thrown over my head, I heard them laughing and burping. Although I threatened them both with what would happen the next time I got my hands on one of Tewke’s tools, they cared not, being well pickled. Tossed over a shoulder, I was carried down the tower staircase. The Captain called out for Tilda to unbolt the door and, of course, the saucy-mouthed traitor obeyed. They all gave me up readily, rather than step in his way. I was stolen away into the sunset, on the back of that pirate’s horse.
Chapter Forty-Six
Parson Bartleby was not pleased to be called away from his supper, or to find Will Carver at his door with a wriggling, cursing lump, in a sack over his shoulder and the blacksmith’s apprentice laughing hysterically at his side. When he saw the identity of their captive, however, he was quite happy to perform the service, thinking I had my comeuppance at last. Tilda’s father, stumbling by in a state of half-blind drunkenness, fell into the task of witness alongside Tom Tewke. When it came time for the hasty document to be signed, my hand was forced to the page. Alfred Gawtry could not write, but, as he managed to spill the inkpot and get his fingers in it, the job was done by pressing his thumb to the paper. Amid much raucous hilarity.
We spent our wedding night at Merryweather’s, under the sign that proclaimed: "Good Barley Ales and Honest Companye", in the little room above it that qualified the place as an Inn. He insisted on a supper of cold pheasant, making me wait until he’d eaten his fill. After all that fuss, he now took his sweet time seducing me, savoring his moment.
"We may as well get on with it," I said, leaping upon him impatiently, even as he still licked his fingers.
He protested mildly, while I pulled on his doublet. "There is no haste. We have all night."
"Oh? Shall it take that long?"
He put his hands over mine. "All night," he clarified, his voice low, eyes on my lips.
"Why? Don’t you know what you’re doing?"
He snorted
. "By morning you’ll have no doubt of that."
"We’ll see. I’m not easily pleased – or satisfied." I sighed heavily. "I shan’t hope for too much. You can only do your best. Or your worst."
He was breathing hard as I slid my hands under his shirt and down over his tight stomach. "Now I see you’re asking for trouble."
"Of course I am. I married you, didn’t I?"
"Woman, have you no patience?"
"None," I declared. "When I see something I want, I generally take it."
Sliding his finger under the leather chord around my neck, he lifted it, revealing his opal ring. "Little thief! When did you…?" But the breath halted in his throat as my villainous hands found something else they wanted and, a short moment later, he forgot his precious restraint and how much time we had, lifting me in a great and gasping hurry, so that we fell together onto that creaky old bed.
* * * *
He slept with one leg thrown across me, one arm snaked around my waist, his head on my breast, snoring gently. Out with the alacrity of a snuffed candle, he left me to stare into the darkness, listening to his steady, contented huffing.
What had my uncle told me? Lay still…shut yer eyes tight...and don’t say a word. And fer the love o’ Saint Pete, Scrapper, don’t ask the feller questions. Unfortunately, none of his advice seemed appropriate now. I don’t suppose my uncle ever envisaged that my wedding night would take place like this, at the hands of a villainous pirate, built like a shire horse.
Wide awake again, thanks to my wandering, inquisitive hands, he complained that I would wear him out, to which I replied, "If I waited to be asked, I’d never get anything I wanted."
Punishing me for that unladylike impatience, he began a slow torment, teasing my skin with his tongue. I slid my hands up to his shoulders, tentatively exploring all that strength flexing above me. Slowly, tortuously, his mouth continued its wandering journey, and I was lost. Down he went, inch by inch, making me wait, shifting out of my reach.
I felt his tongue again, his lips on my inner thighs, first one, then the other. Then between. I should have been shocked, but after that night, nothing would ever take me by surprise again.
For sure the folk below heard my screams, but no one came to my rescue. Carvers got away with things.
* * * *
"I suppose you will not remain constant to me, Captain," I exclaimed the next morning, as he laced the back of my gown with fumbling, inefficient fingers. "You will slake your lusts in some foreign port with a slattern like Nan Gawtry – ouch – you pull too tight! The first woman who crosses your line of sight is the same as a stag to a hunter. But I suppose ‘tis none of my business, for as I heard you say – when you take a woman as your wife, she had better accept your past as well as your future. So I must remain meek and silent."
"Meek and silent?"
"You shall not hear another word from me." I looked over my shoulder. "Men must have their mistresses, so I am told." When he said nothing, I continued, "For sure you will forget me the moment you weigh anchor. Unlike poor Nan Gawtry, I shall not pine away for sight of you."
He mumbled under his breath.
"I beg your pardon? You have not even got a willow switch," I reminded him smugly. "Besides you promised never to lay a hand on me in anger."
Sighing, he resumed tugging on my laces with a vast deal of unnecessary force.
"I wonder what your family will do now," I teased. "Your mother, for certain, will have your guts for garters."
He curtly advised me to leave the talking to him, and I was happy to comply for once, curious to see how he meant to explain this transgression.
* * * *
When we entered the house they were all there, except Rufus. It was cool. The new day’s sun, tentatively reaching through the dirty windows, had yet to find the flagstones at our feet. Suzannah had a good fire burning already in the largest hearth, but even this was not enough to melt the crispness of the morning that showed itself in the spirit forms of their breath.
"Well, ‘tis done," Will announced into the frigid atmosphere. "You may as well get used to it."
This, then, was his idea of a conciliatory speech.
"Is there any breakfast?" he added. "I’ve the appetite of a horse this morn." Then he grinned broadly at Hugh, who looked as if he’d spent a long night in company with the ale jug. I began then to worry that I was merely the prize in their latest competition.
Rufus came in. The house took a great heaving breath, anticipating his infamous wrath, but his restless eyes swept the room, just once; then he sat heavily, nodding to his son in greeting.
Disappointed, Suzannah dampened her pale lips with a quick movement of her tongue. "Have you seen what your son brought home this morning?" From the way she said it, he might have brought home a nasty case of the pox. "Have you naught to say?"
Rufus made a bored face. "No use sobbing over spilt milk. My son’s a grown man and makes his own choices." There was something almost gleeful in the underlying rhythm of his voice. "I’m only surprised you never saw it coming. I did." Now, with a typical man’s arrogance he brushed her protests aside and looked for his breakfast.
When the Earl declared that the marriage could yet be annulled, Rufus glanced at his eldest son, his brow arched. "Out of the question," said Will, followed by another smirk. "’Tis well done."
Well done indeed! I suppose he thought me tamed after one night of his unbound licentiousness. I did not know where to look.
The Earl demanded to speak to Rufus alone, but the original Shiftless Rogue brushed him off. "I have another son," he pointed out. "If you are desperate for a stud horse, I daresay Hugh will do. He has good strong seed aplenty and the bastards to prove it. Eh, Hugh?"
His younger son blanched, and Frances gave a tiny squeal. Fearing she might say something to land him in the frumenty, Hugh exclaimed, "I cannot provide for a wife. I am yet to establish myself."
Their father’s voice boomed through the house. "You should put your mind to business for once, instead of pleasures boy; then you might make something of yourself."
"Aye – take your anger out on me!" Hugh cried. "I am not the one who brings home a penniless bastard for a wife, some little," he looked at me and spat, "whore!"
Will lunged, but I grabbed his arm, holding him back. He scowled down at me.
Now, if I were a proper heroine, I would suffer in silence. However, I never wanted to be custodian of her secrets in the first place and, seeing that somebody must do something, as usual it had to be me.
"Frances is with child. They must make do with what they could get, so they chose you. But it is Hugh’s child. It was supposed to be a secret."
Groaning, Hugh threw up his hands, while Frances ran to his side, wrenching free of her father, who seemed to have lost the capability of holding on to anything – even, I suspect, his bowels. Clinging around Hugh’s waist, she sobbed. "You need not fight your brother for me. I could never love another, my dearest Hugh."
Had the privy walls blown down to expose the Earl with his breeches around his knees, he could not have been more humiliated.
"My wife has a tendency to get to the point," Will apologized dryly, "with brutal honesty."
Rufus was amused. "A toast is in order then, eh? Cider, my dear. Come, come, Grandmama." He clicked his flesh and blood fingers at Suzannah. "I daresay we are all in need of a little libation."
She had her hands clasped around a large wooden rolling pin and I thought, for a moment, that she would strike his skull with it. There was a time when I would not believe her capable of a temper, but I had seen her slap her son’s face once before, when it came so suddenly that it took him by surprise too. Now, she turned slowly and walked into the pantry, no expression on her face beyond the usual weary resignation.
Chapter Forty-Seven
To register his displeasure, the Earl took his family up to my uncle's Keep. The tension in the house was palpable, but on this night Suzannah had gone to her bed
and Hugh to his, so all was deceptively quiet. Rufus, with no one left to shout at, or argue with, sat by the fire, his back to us. Tonight I was at a loose end, not sleepy enough for bed, yet too lazy for practical employment. Will was busy with his letter to a carpenter in Norwich, ordering a new bed, writing out the dimensions and pondering every detail. For a while I read over his shoulder, pointing out all his misspelled words. Then I teased him about the sketch he drew to illustrate his requirements.
"Is that a boat?" I asked politely. "Shall we go fishing in it?"
"This shall be the very best bed you ever slept upon."
"Oh," I said, "we shall sleep on it then shall we?"
"Sometimes," he replied archly, pausing to dip his pen in the inkpot.
I ran my fingers over his neck, where his sun-lightened hair lay in an untidy straggle of curls. "Shall I cut it for you?" I asked.
"You? With something sharp in your hands?"
I touched his hair lightly. "It grows long."
"Hmmmm." It was a contented sound he made, just to let me know he listened, but really he had other, more important things on his mind than me. It became a challenge to win his attention.
Scratch, scratch, scratch went his quill across the paper.
My fingertips caressed his warm neck, where the heat of that day’s sun lingered yet. The scratching quill became slower, until it stopped altogether. While I expected him to send me back to my seat, he was silent. I bent to kiss his sweat-dampened hair, and then the tip of his ear. Not knowing what to make of this, he dropped his quill. "You distract me from my letter."
I leaned over his shoulder. "I could help you write it."
His gaze swept slyly over me, still slightly puzzled. "I daresay you might."
"But I have nowhere to sit."
Confused, he glanced at the other benches and chairs scattered about the room, so I was obliged to push my way into his lap – as he was being so thick-headed. Finally, he gave me the seat I demanded and cautiously put his arms around me. I picked up his goose feather quill, before he could reach it. "What are you up to, Scrapper?" he whispered.
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