Emerald and Sapphire

by Laura Parker

  The second man scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, only to find it blocked by the first of the inn guests to come running at the sound of the furor.

  “Outta me way!” he cried shrilly and with his knife slashed a path past the unfortunate young man in nightcap and gown. Merlyn was past the guest in a flash, leaving Cassandra to deal with the stunned gentleman and her crying child.

  “What’s goin’ on here?” demanded the innkeeper, appearing by his bleeding guest’s side.

  “We were attacked,” Cassandra answered, moving her son to her shoulder so that she had a hand free to wrap Merlyn’s stock about the man’s wound. “He and a companion tried to murder us in our beds,” she said, pointing at the dead man sprawled before the fireplace.

  The innkeeper looked down at the dead man and then suspiciously at the young woman before him. His eyes missed nothing. The light showed her full breasts straining against her sacque and the narrow waist and curving hips of an extraordinarily comely female form. “ ‘Ow’s I to know what them men was doin’ in ‘ere?” he asked with a speaking glance at her undressed state.

  “Because my wife is not in the habit of entertaining men in her nightclothes,” Merlyn answered, reappearing in the doorway. His gaze went straight to Cassandra. “Are you all right? Give me Adam. Now, innkeeper,” he continued in a deeper, angrier tone. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  “What?” the man barked in surprise.

  “If this is a measure of your hospitality, you may be certain the king will hear of it. Law-abiding citizens not safe in their own beds when they’ve a shilling to call their own.”

  “That’s so,” offered the young man whose arm was being bandaged. “I travel this road regularly, and never before in my life have I been attacked practically in my bed.” He looked around at the innkeeper. “I could have been robbed, too.”

  “What d’ye mean?” the innkeeper bristled. “Ye’re sayin’ they were after yer gold?”

  Merlyn put his arm about Cassandra’s shoulders. “I am saying that my wife wears a valuable ring. ‘Twas my wedding gift to her.” He raised her hand to display the emerald and sapphire ring. “Lovely, isn’t it? Thieves would find it irresistible. And you, sir, give them warm respite for the evening that they may hunt in your halls in dead of night.”

  “I done no such thing!” the innkeeper cried, thinking of the ruin that was likely to befall him were news of this to reach the common ear. “They mustta come in the back way. The slut who cooks for me always leaves the latch off.” He waved his hands at the crowd in the hallway. “Ye folks go back to yer rooms. I’ll cart the body out; then all of ye can get back to the rest ye’re paying for.”

  Merlyn felt Cassandra stiffen when the innkeeper’s candle spread its light over the inert form of the dead man, and anxiousness for her safety vied with annoyance that he’d been forced to do murder before her eyes. Would she understand that it was for fear of her life that he’d done it? Or would she hold it against him as one more crime?

  When the body had been removed and the door closed, he turned on her. “I swear I never killed a man before this night!”

  Cassandra heard this declaration in surprise, seeing in his face an expression she’d never before witnessed there. He was angry, yes, and more than a little defensive, but that was not all. There was a fear in him. It was there in the blue-green gaze beholding her. With a jolt she realized that he must have removed his patch in order to better see the intruders.

  “Your patch! Did the innkeeper notice?” she asked, looking around on the floor for the leather string.

  Merlyn swore under his breath and took long strides to bring her within reach of his hands that took her shoulders in a painful grip. “Look at me, damn you! Do you think me a murderer?”

  Cassandra tried to hold the brilliance of his emerald-sapphire stare, but the colors blended and blurred. “I believe you,” she whispered huskily. “You threw yourself upon them without knowing whose battle you fought or why. You might have died.”

  Merlyn pulled her quickly into his arms, relief bursting through him in a physical shudder. Not only had she given him her confidence, she had praised him. He wanted to tell her that it was not bravery but a gut-wrenching fear for her and Adam’s safety that had made him act. Instead, he silently held her until the tremors quaking through her made him remember the chill of the room. “Why, you’re cold, my love,” he said and reached down to pick her up in his arms. “To bed, Cassie.”

  “Wait.” Cassandra put a hand against his chest to keep her head from sinking naturally against its solid comfort. She dreaded telling him, but she knew she must. “I know—knew the man who died. He was a groom at Briarcliffe. The marquess must have sent them. Oh, Merlyn! He’s had us followed!” Her voice quavered and cracked on the last words, the pent-up fright of the past hour falling from her now in tears.

  “Hush, love,” Merlyn said, cradling her closer as he walked over and sat down next to his sleeping son. He did not put her from his lap but continued to hold her and gently rock her as if she were a child until her shivering subsided.

  “I’ve known for a week that someone followed me. Once I’d made fairly certain that Nick believed the comte had no part in your disappearance, I thought perhaps I dodged mere shadows. I had, in all honesty, forgotten about your father-in-law. He, too, will be searching for you. ‘Tis hard to believe his luck, for all that. So, here’s what we must do.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The sharp sunlight of the autumn afternoon magnified the clear vibrance of the air. Every tree and blade of grass stood out in sharp relief. Across the meadow, fields of hay baked to a warm golden brown. The cool crisp nights had tipped the green of the trees with gilt and the bramble vines were shot through with scarlet tongues amongst the green. It was harvest season and the earth hung heavy and sweet with its ripened growth. But for the gentle glide of small milky white clouds in the cerulean sky, the air was still, weighted with the odors of grass, the sharp-sweet tang of wild berries, and the faint salty scent of the sea many miles to the north.

  Cassandra breathed deeply, reminded of her home in Devonshire. In summer the droning of bees, dusted yellow on their underbellies with pollen, would have completed the sights and sounds of the day. For a moment longing for a home, a place of her own, seized her with an acuteness that made her catch her breath.

  “What’s wrong, Cassie? Did a fly sting you?” Merlyn inquired, pausing on the roadside.

  Cassandra turned to him, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. The sunshine had added a sheen of perspiration to his face and bronzed his cheeks. A few inky black curls, so pure an ebony they shone with bluish highlights in the strong natural light, had slipped from their ribbon and clung to his damp brow and neck. The hawkish nose, heavy brows, and harsh lines of his face prevented him from true handsomeness, but he didn’t need it, she thought with an unexpected leap of her pulse, and she hurriedly looked away.

  “My feet ache,” she said and turned back to the road before them. She’d given up counting the blisters her walking boots had rubbed on her ankles after the first week. Two weeks earlier, they had fled Chatham undetected. They’d waited until the coach was standing in the yard with their luggage aboard before sneaking out the kitchen door. Now they had nothing but the clothes on their backs and endless miles of byways and footpaths behind them. “How much farther must we travel today?”

  Merlyn fell into step beside her, making a conscious effort to match his long stride to her smaller, delicate steps. “Another hour should bring us to the outskirts of Trowbridge. We’ll rest there for the night.”

  He looked down at her and smiled. Adam had reached up and grabbed the ruffle of her mobcap and tugged it sideways until it nearly covered one of her eyes. His gurgle of contentment as he crammed the lace into his toothless mouth was echoed in his father’s sigh. It was a good day to be alive, Merlyn thought. Never before had he known such contentment. And all b
ecause of the slip of a girl with great honey-brown eyes who walked beside him.

  Cassandra did not notice his satisfied smirk. She had other matters on her mind. More than once in the days since they’d been on the road she had noticed other women turning their heads as Merlyn passed. She was no longer too naïve to know that their lowered lashes and secretive smiles were invitations for his company. She wondered now if he ever took up one of the more provocative glances he’d received when he went into the villages alone some evenings. It would explain his behavior toward her. In her experience of him he was not a man to deny himself the pleasures he desired. So why, then, had he not taken advantage of the many nights they’d spent in isolation, sleeping along the roadside, to make love to her?

  Not that she wanted that, she admonished herself. She was glad to be left alone and dreaded their next encounter. It was only that she couldn’t keep from her mind the memory of that night in Chatham when he’d drawn back from her. Not since then had he so much as kissed her. Had she behaved so unforgivably? Or had he grown bored with her when there were so many other desirable women available? The only way to know would be to ask him, and she didn’t want to face his aversion a second time.

  When the evening sky tinted the night with mauves and golds and deep purples, Merlyn left Cassandra and Adam sitting in an empty thresher’s hut. The night had turned midnight-blue when he returned, whistling a tune Cassandra had become accustomed to hearing. It was a bawdy drinking song, the words of which he’d sung for her when she’d inquired. After that, she just enjoyed the melody while trying not to blush as the words filtered into her thoughts.

  “Mutton pies, a pair of them, and fresh berry tart,” he announced when he appeared in the doorway. “Light a candle, Cassie, my love. This is too good to be nibbled in the dark.”

  Cassandra’s mouth tightened as she reached out to do his bidding. He never allowed her to accompany him into the villages where he went each night to find provisions for them. Suspicion had been growing in her that he did not do so because he knew she would not approve of the methods he used.

  “Shouldn’t we be running out of shillings soon?” she asked, innocently raising her eyes to his when the candle was lit.

  A corner of Merlyn’s mouth twitched as he sat down beside her and opened the napkin he carried. “Twas a spot of luck, our finding this place abandoned. In another few days it’ll be filled with workmen.” He neatly broke each pie in half and then separated the tart, putting half on her side of the napkin and the larger piece on his. “I’ve even managed a bottle of ale,” he announced proudly as he pulled the bottle from beneath his coat.

  “Stolen it, you mean,” Cassandra answered, not touching her portion of the fare. “You’ve stolen everything here, haven’t you?” she continued, holding his gaze with an accusatory stare.

  “What of it?” Merlyn shrugged carelessly. “I keep you fed. You’ve no cause for complaint.”

  Cassandra gnawed her lower lip, looking down at the crisp meat pastry as if it were a purloined ruby necklace he’d set before her. “You’ve stolen every time? Every meal? For weeks?”

  Merlyn looked away, feeling uncomfortable before her incredulous gaze. “Eat your food before it’s cold.”

  “No.” Cassandra shook her head, feeling as guilty as if she’d been the thief. “How could you? You knew I’d never agree.”

  “That’s why I didn’t tell you. You’d have been needlessly worried about something that does not concern you,” Merlyn replied, sticking a quarter of one pie into his mouth.

  “Not concern me?” Cassandra repeated in astonishment. “Here I sit night after night, eating ill-gotten goods, and you say ’tis no concern of mine.”

  Merlyn swallowed his mouthful and reached for the ale. “I say ’tis no concern of yours because it isn’t. You had no part in the theft. You never asked me whence came the clothes on your back or how I kept you fed when you shared company with Meg. Why now this missishness over tuppence?”

  This effectively silenced her for the moment. It was true. She’d never before questioned his largess. She had assumed his funds were the result of pawning the Briarcliffe diamonds. Her head jerked up. “What became of the necklace and earrings you stole from me?”

  Merlyn looked at her in surprise. “What do you suppose?” He shoved a hand into the open neck of his shirt and produced the diamond collar and pendants. “There, my lady. You’ll not tax me with that.”

  Cassandra looked at them in wonder. “Why didn’t you sell them if we needed money?”

  Merlyn cursed under his breath. “Ignorance! How long do you think it would be before someone recognized them? There aren’t many who can afford such baubles. The dealer would show them to young noblemen first. Perhaps Nick Briarcliffe himself would be asked to name a price for his own family’s jewels. I’ve had no time to separate them from their mounts and fashion new ones for them. They’re worthless to me.”

  “You can do that?” Cassandra asked doubtfully.

  Merlyn looked up at her, grinning. “I have many talents, my love. You know only a few.”

  Cassandra ignored this as she pulled his ring from her finger and tossed it in his direction. “That aside, you may take back this ring and sell it. Or is it stolen, too?”

  In a violent move Merlyn plucked the emerald and sapphire ring from the matted straw floor and rose to his feet. “I should strike you for that,” he said quietly through clenched teeth.

  Instinctively, Cassandra raised her hands, remembering the stinging slap he’d delivered to Meg. But that violence did not come. Instead, he grabbed her by one wrist and hauled her to her feet. She heard his quick intake of breath, and then she was pulled roughly toward him and enfolded in an angry embrace a second before his mouth swooped down on hers. It was not a lover’s kiss but rather that of an angry man momentarily shaken out of his self-possession.

  “Why? Why?” Cassandra whispered shakily when at last his arms relaxed about her.

  Merlyn shook his head, equally dazed by the spark of emotion that had roared into full passion at the touch of his lips. “I don’t know,” he said shortly, dropping his arms from her. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he said a moment later, his voice flat and dry.

  Cassandra gazed at him in full surprise. “Does the ring mean so very much to you?”

  Merlyn opened his hand to reveal the ring in his palm. “My father made it. ’Tis the only thing left me of my family.”

  “Who are you?” Cassandra whispered, eyeing the emerald and sapphire stones that winked at her from his palm like the sacred eyes of some heathen idol.

  Merlyn sighed. It was not a night for questions. “What answer would please you? Will it make you like me better if I say I really am a French comte? What if I tell you my mother was a gypsy fortune-teller hanged as a thief? Ha!” he cried bitterly. “That you will believe because it fits your opinion of me ere this. Well, hang her they did, and me, her son, they banished to the workhouse.”

  There was a derisive edge to his voice as he turned to face her fully. “You keep company with a workhouse child, my lady. A poor gypsy boy raised on charity and kicks, born to hang.”

  His intention had been to still her curiosity, and he knew he had succeeded when she lowered her head and said nothing more. After a moment he took her face, a pale shadowed oval, in his hands and found her cheeks slick with tears. “What’s this, Cassie? Are these tears for the poor mite who watched his mother dance on the gibbet, or for yourself?”

  “Oh! Do be silent!” Cassandra cried and put a hand to his lips to still his hard cold voice. “You can be so cruel, Merlyn Ross. In all my life I’ve never known a crueler man.”

  Merlyn moved back from her touch, not because he didn’t want it but because he knew she was not finished with her questions, and now that they had begun they should be answered. “What do you, my lady, know of cruelty or hardship? You’ve never known a day without enough in your belly and only the fresh
welts from the workmaster’s knout to keep you company. You’ve never cried till there were no more tears and then been made to walk the treadmill for the weakness. You’ve always been wanted, always housed and fed and cared for.”

  Cassandra faced him, the meal on the floor between them forgotten. “Do not tax me with that Drury Lane speech. Perhaps it’s made another lady’s heart soften, but you can have no idea how easily I could fling your words back in your face.”

  Merlyn felt a strange sensation flow over him as he stared into her huge golden eyes. It wasn’t just passion; he’d long ago realized he could win her to him with just a touch. He saw clearly for the first time that there was a wide, incalculably deep chasm between them, and he had not the first inkling how to bridge it.

  “What’s between us, Cassie?”

  Cassandra did not need to ask him what he meant. “Nicholas.”

  Merlyn snatched the patch from his eye, the better to see her. It was a long, quiet look. “I’ve never believed until this moment that you truly wed Briarcliffe. I don’t believe he loved you, for if he had, he could never have turned away from you. Why, why did you marry him?”

  Cassandra looked away from that burning gaze, aware that tears of humiliation were forming. “I had no choice. You say I know nothing of suffering, but I tell you I know enough to curdle a tender heart. That’s not an excuse,” she challenged, looking up quickly. “I’d do it again to get away from the life I’d known. Perhaps I’d have married any man to end that.”

  “Was it so bad?” he asked quietly.

  Cassandra raised her head to stare over his shoulder into the night. “Have you ever been to a county fair on auction day? Cattle and swine are usually sold. But one fall day three years ago my village fair had for auction an uncommon item. A gentleman in need of funds for the gaming tables put it up for sale. The law makes it legal.”