A shiver of stunned laughter floated around us, along with the trailing wisps of torch smoke. I heard someone in the crowd ask if I was one of the gypsy performers hired to entertain. He stepped closer, towering over me. "You make an exhibit of yourself."
"You are the exhibit, Aloysius! Are you worried about your rules? How many have I broke?"
I’d known rages before, but never like this. Snatching a wine jug from a passing servant, I tossed the contents in the Betrayer’s startled face. He swayed, tipping back on his heels, Gascony wine staining his doublet like a bloody wound.
I ran, and this time the crowd did part for me.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
My mind revolved around that scene of them together — him leaning down to her; she, with her filthy talons, caressing his cheek. By the time I arrived back at the house I was sick to my stomach, ashamed of this possessiveness, newly sprouted within me. For Pity’s Sake, I never wanted a husband in the first place and now, much to my chagrin, I had fallen in love with him. I knew it. I burned with it. This would not do at all.
The maid let me in, and I ran to my bedchamber, slammed the door and stood in the centre of the room, trying to catch my breath. Eventually the red mist cleared. I realized Lady Talbot was left behind to face the destruction I’d caused, and I was sorry for that. This is how I repaid the old lady’s hospitality.
Chewing on my fingernails, I relived the scene again – the shadowy lovers, deep in conversation, her laughter, the caress; the way he leaned down to her. I pressed my hands to my bosom, trying to calm the haphazard fluttering within. Do not fail me now, I pleaded with my Sydney Pride – my warrior woman – do not abandon me now, when I needed all my fighting spirit.
The beating of his knuckles at the front door echoed through the house, shaking every bone in my body. Bellowing my name, he pounded up the great staircase, making the oak boards groan. Every door along the hall was flung open, until he reached mine and, finding it bolted, kicked it open with his big feet. The wood splintered and fell apart.
"Go away," I yelled stupidly, clutching the bedpost.
He stooped under the lintel, his fists still clenched, knuckles white. "You will never be…behave that way to me again."
So many things whirled about in my mind and finally one popped out onto my tongue. "You married me because you owed my uncle a favour. I am nothing but a debt paid, a slate tile hammered into place."
A thick, churning sea mist rolled in under his lashes. "Slate…tile?"
I backed away and by then I was at the third bedpost. He followed, his menacing shadow reaching across the bed. "I warned you this would never work," I whimpered.
He searched the chamber for something on which to take out his fury and I panicked, remembering Master Culpepper’s book of poetry on the little writing desk by the window. Cautiously I began to edge my way toward it. "If you want rid of me," I added, "you can make it so. I am barren. Let that be your reason."
"Rid of you? Oh no – we are in this forever, sweetling," he ground out. "We made a binding vow." The candlelight puttered around my chamber, shadows dancing around us, like specters at their own banquet. Suddenly, his voice lowered to the threatening rolling timbre of war drums. "Mayhap Master Culpepper lies at the root of all this moodiness."
So his mother had told him. I gasped. "Now you try to turn this on me?" My anxious gazed flicked sideways to the little writing desk.
"My mother warned me from the beginning, but no, I…" Abruptly he stopped, his head on one side.
I thought to dispose of Master Culpepper’s book before he saw it there, but, alas, he read my thoughts. His stride was longer than mine, and he shouldered me aside, grabbing the book, wrenching it out of my fingers.
"Poetry?" He made it known, in those three small syllables, what he thought of that.
"Do not meddle with things beyond your understanding!" I cried, tugging on the book. I could see the corner of Master Culpepper’s letter peeking out. While I should have burned it by now, some dreadful vanity had caused me to keep it. Letting go abruptly, I turned away, hoping this would cause him not to look any further.
Holding the little book between thumb and forefinger, he shook it – just once. The letter fluttered to the desk and, still valuing my ears, I took myself off to the other side of the bed, waiting for the tempest. While he read it, there was nothing but my own unsteady breathing; then came the ripping and cursing. As if the destruction of that letter was not enough, he tore out the pages of the little book too.
"Books!" He spat the word.
"If you read one occasionally you might not be so thick-headed."
He balled the torn slivers in the palm of one great fist; then thrust it into his mouth. He came toward me, still chewing. I backed away. He grabbed the pitcher of water on the washstand and drank from it, easing down his spiteful feast.
"It was just words," I cried. "I wager you give your lover more than words!"
He did not deny it. "How long has it gone on?" His voice was hoarse. "Since you sent for him to tutor Nathaniel? I knew you held something back from me." He followed me around the bed, the stormy grey of his eyes now sparking with flashes of lightening behind the clouds. "You would not even t…tell me he had come there. I gave you many chances to…t… tell me." His face grew darker with every stammer.
"Do not visit your own sins on me, Lackwit! You have your lovers, and I have none." In a surge of anger, I added, "Much is the pity!"
He exhaled, spitting out little bits of chewed paper.
My tongue flapped onward. "She is the one for whom you bought those silk stockings long before you met me! I suppose you thought of her too, when you bought those fancy gloves and that cloth – things for a noble lady, not a penniless bastard!"
"I will not talk of this with you, when you share naught with me," he roared. "God’s Teeth, she was certainly a damn sight easier than you. At least she knew her place!"
"Why do you not go back to her then?" I cried, mustering all my last shreds of dignity.
His eyes narrowed. The storm had passed and now there was a cold, moonless winter’s night; no stars reflected upon the water. "Is that what you want?"
I faltered, primarily because my sinful pride would not allow me to beg him to stay, but also because no one had ever asked me what I wanted about anything. And what I wanted was now in a state of flux. I had never felt this much need overburdening my heart before, not for anyone or anything. It terrified me. What did I know of love? What did I know of anything? I was, after all, no brave adventuress; I was just a silly country girl who, until very recently, never traveled further then fifteen miles from the place she was born.
While I still struggled, he walked out over the broken wreckage of the door and my heart.
* * * *
Hearing all about my outburst at the banquet, Mary Sourpout came to the house on Monday. "This is the result of my father’s lax discipline," she said. "It amused him to indulge you and now see what has become of it."
Sir Brian readily gave his groatsworth. "I always said that Spanish temper would bring her to a quick end."
"I am not dead," I reminded him, whereupon he rolled his weary, bloodshot eyes at me, as if to say that I may as well be.
"A woman’s role, according to Saint Paul," he lectured complacently, "is to keep silent in church and learn humility from her husband at home." Mary snuffled with laughter and Sir Brian thought she directed her mirth at me, poor fool.
My infamous temper was not entirely cooled, but it simmered out of sight and I assured myself that I would soon have the fire out altogether. I did not care if he was with The Harlot, consoling her with gifts. If he preferred the company of a woman like her, then I was sorry for him, but I washed my hands of it. If they thought I would cower and hide, they were mistook.
Despite Sir Brian’s expectations, far from leaving me ostracized, the incident was soon widely retold in heroic terms. Lady Asher was not as popular as she thought; her public sl
apping considered something of a public service. Even King Harry was said to laugh when he heard of the Incident. With her vigorous appreciation for the ridiculous, it pleased Lady Talbot to take me out with her about town and even those who would never have welcomed me otherwise, were too afraid to tell her not to bring me. I made the most of the attention, relishing the fact that wherever I was invited, Kat Asher would not go. While I was entitled to weep and pine in my chamber, I made certain to be seen enjoying myself. The Harlot was left to sulk over her supposed "wounds" and protest feebly, when she truly had no grounds. She may as well shut her whorish mouth and save her bruised jaw.
One afternoon we returned to the house after a morning of visits, to find a guest awaiting us. Ambleforthe turned his sorrowful eyes to me and cooed with great regret, "Captain Carver awaits you in the parlor, madam."
"Oh does he?" I sighed, flinging off my gloves.
"Yes…he damn— well does," came the cool response from my faithless husband, on the other side of the paneled wall. "And he’s waited all morn."
I shook my head at his ill manners, but Lady Talbot tapped my shoulder with her walking cane. "You had best extend an apology."
"For what?" I exclaimed, horrified.
She smiled. "Before he breaks my house all to pieces, my dear. Do it for me. Placate him – if only for my sakes."
"Very well, Lady Talbot, for you I shall." I raised my voice. "If it were up to me he could grow dusty waiting, but I would not have him cause any more injury to your house."
Her hand was on my arm, drawing me down to hear. "Once, many moons ago, I let a young man leave me because I was too prideful." She winked. "Forgive while you can, for our time is short."
Thus I swept into the parlor to face the ogre. He stood as I entered, feigning polite manners that were unexpected. Filling the room with his presence, he was almost too much for my resistance, but then I remembered that I was simply another burden he must bear – another responsibility he took on because no one else would. I launched into a nervous speech.
"I am not sorry I slapped your hussy and would do so again if she were before me today. I have relived the moment many times since then, in the hopes of finding myself penitent, but I only wish I had thought to take out a few teeth while I was about it."
His eyes were overcast, like the day, but a small flicker of light showed through the clouds. The remnants of the storm, or the beginning of a new one? He held out his hand, dangling a leather purse. "This should recompense for the damage to Lady Talbot’s house the other evening." The bag of coin slipped easily from his hand to mine. "There are reports of fever in the town – possibly the sweat," he said. "I’ve advised Sir Brian, and he’ll be here within the hour to take you home."
"You want me out of the way."
"I want you safe." Then his brow creased, his expression deeply perplexed and irritated – with himself or with me. "That’s all then. I’ll be going."
He might have left his message with Ambleforthe, I realized, and not waited for me. With one, deep, fortifying breath, the words rushed out. "I did not think you were so thin-skinned as to take offense at a few cross words, Captain."
Turning slowly, he stared at me in some bemusement.
I continued swiftly, "I have a very bad temper, but that cannot be helped."
He shook his head.
"And you knew that when you married me," I added.
His lips were set in that familiar firm line.
"I have sorely offended you, when I would not have done so for the world. I should grovel at your boots in gratitude for you trying to make of me an honest woman." I grabbed his hand, pressing my lips to his cold, clenched knuckles. "I daresay, as much as I try to hold my tongue, it will oft run on again." I looked up, beseeching the great oaf, "Can you find it in your hard heart to grant me your forgiveness?" I brought his fingers to my breast.
"You," he said softly, "are a treacherous, deceitful woman." His eyes shifted guilty from my bosom.
"Yes, yes, I know all that." I agreed sorrowfully, but no less impatiently.
"And you make it impossible for me to trust you."
I lifted my shoulders in a despondent shrug.
"Get up then," he muttered awkwardly. I scrambled dutifully to my feet, smiling sweetly. He scowled. "Then I suppose… you are forgiven." Never had forgiveness been so reluctantly granted; never an apology so strangely offered. I had made a game of it, in some attempt to save my pride, but he was not sure what to make of it.
Suddenly he said, "I was one and twenty when I met that woman."
Astonished, my lips parted, but I was silent.
He continued, "I was young, unscarred, flattered by her attention. But she found another, richer lover." Shaking his hands out, he resisted the urge to crack his knuckles. "I vowed I would never lose my head again over a damned woman. Then I met you."
I wondered what made him confess all this. No wife of his, he had said once to Nan Gawtry, had better question him about his past. Yet he made an exception for me.
"I haven’t touched her in ten years, and I’ve no intention of doing so again," he added. "Now are you content?"
I could not answer at once, so he began to leave again, but I caught his sleeve. He waited, scowling, as I struggled for softer words that came awkwardly to me. There had been too little time for us to learn.
"When will you return?" I asked.
"Are you saying you’ll wait for me, Genny?"
It came out of me, clumsy and rushed, "Of course I’ll wait. What else would I do?"
He muttered, "Quill says a man can never be at peace with himself, unless he knows the woman at his side is there by her own choice. I suppose I will know, will I not, when I return?" He too was learning, it seemed –trying to give me my head.
"We’ll start again then," I said, holding back the tears.
He smiled a little in that shy way. "Another beginning? Mayhap we’ll get it right next time."
But he sailed on that day, into a deadly storm, because whoever had taken over his story had other plans.
Chapter Sixty
Grace
He pulled my earphones aside and yelled in my ear, "How much longer will you write?"
I brushed his restless fingers away. "Can’t you amuse yourself for half an hour?"
Silly question. With unaccustomed time on his hands, my pirate was practically a danger to himself. There was a limit to the amount of relaxation he could enjoy in my peaceful garden on a Sunday afternoon. Like a child, he needed something structured to keep him amused. I remarked under my breath that he must have been a real bugger to teach and he replied primly that he was an excellent student.
"I absorb facts like a sponge," he added, licking my cheek.
"Don’t do that," I groaned. "You’re distracting me again, and I must finish this Chapter."
It was a mistake, of course, to let him lay under me in that hammock, but it was an irresistible mistake. With his strong, firm body beneath mine, I felt safe, comforted – desired. But at the same time, it was damned difficult concentrating long enough to write, while I felt every twitch of muscle, every deceptively languid stretch.
Suddenly he said, "I remember three pear trees over there, by the wall, and here, on this side, there were plum and apple trees. In the spring, if I stood under the blossom and looked up, the sky was filled with pink and white clouds."
I stopped writing. Did he read what I wrote? Or was it truly a memory?
"And over there – for jam-making, rows of blackberry and gooseberry bushes. In that corner, leaning over our wall, were branches of a walnut tree. In the autumn, we used thrashing sticks to knock the walnuts loose." His voice softened, bewildered suddenly. "A great, towering walnut tree, or so it seemed to me then. Where has it gone? Has so much time past?"
We were interrupted by a visitor. Jack Willingham strolled around the corner, shouting my name. My pirate leapt with agility to his feet, while I fought gracelessly to extricate myself from the hammo
ck. Thrust into a tailspin of panic I was reduced to clumsy thrashing, like a fish in a net.
"Caught you napping, did I?" Jack laughed, watching me struggle.
"No, I…" Feeling dizzy, I looked around. My pirate was gone, slipping away again, leaving only one sign that he’d been there – a single violet he’d tucked in my hair while we lay together in that much-abused hammock.
"Did you get that ring sized?" Jack asked as we walked inside out of the sun.
I answered cautiously. "I dropped it off." I might have felt bad about taking the ring to be examined without telling him, but I knew it didn’t really belong to him.
Although my pirate hid himself away, his presence was still palpable – at least to me. He seemed to enjoy this game, mischievously disappearing whenever someone came to the house.
"I told Marian I’d drive you to the wedding, so you don’t have to get the train."
He’d never offered to take me to any family event before. "Thanks," I managed, still dreading my debut as a turquoise Roman blind. Then I remembered, "That means you’ll have to pick up Nana too."
"Okay." He’d never met Nana, but a few minutes in a car with her would give anyone pause for thought. She saw through people and their motives as if they were made of glass.
"And I have to pick up the ring too, before the wedding."
He smiled.
Poor Jack. If I told him now that I had no intention of getting married, he’d demand to know where the ring was and then fetch it before I had a chance to discover anything about its history; so I said nothing. He would change his mind anyway, once he realized I was completely loopy — and would never sell that house.
After I waved goodbye to Jack, I returned to the kitchen and found him there, watching through the window.
"Where did you go?" I demanded.
"I don’t like him," he said churlishly, folding his arms. "Moving in on my territory." The words tumbled off his lips. "The Willinghams always were a family of rotten cheats."
"How would you know?"
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