Taking up another musket, he glanced Erienne’s way briefly and rasped out a command, “Madam, stay behind me.”
The hatch above their seats was pulled open, and Bundy’s voice called down, “Almost to the bridge, milord.”
Lord Saxton debated the statement briefly before he nodded and replied, “Good! Just to the other side then.”
The small door was snapped shut without further comment from above. Lord Saxton tucked two of the muskets beneath his arm and took hold of the door latch with the other hand.
“Brace yourself, my dear,” he calmly informed Erienne.
Glancing through the rear portal, she could see that one of the riders, bolder than the rest, had spurred his horse to the fore and now raced a good length ahead of his more cautious fellows. He was beginning to gain on the speeding carriage when the conveyance careened around a sharp curve, and he was momentarily lost from sight. Erienne struggled to maintain her balance through the wildly lurching swing, but no sooner had it ceased than a sustained hollow roar assailed her already ringing ears, and she realized they were crossing a narrow wooden bridge with low post rails on either side.
The roar ceased, and another lurching and heaving began as the driver stood on the brake lever and hauled at the reins to bring the team to a halt. Before they were at a full stop, Lord Saxton threw open the door and with a hand on the sill, swung himself out and down, skidding to a halt in the middle of the road. Going to one knee, he laid one of the muskets beside him and casually checked the pan on the other before he pulled back the heavy snap lock. He waited in the sudden stillness as the thunder of hooves in the distance drew nearer.
The lead rider came around the bend into view, and Lord Saxton bided his time until the horse’s hooves struck the bridge floor, then he flipped the gun to his shoulder and fired. The heavy ball took the horse square in the chest. The animal’s forelegs collapsed beneath him, and he fell nose downward toward the dirt, then somersaulted hooves over head through the air, sending his rider hurtling in a high arc. The man landed with a bellow of pain, then rolled along the bridge for a short space while his dying horse thrashed in the dust.
The highwayman struggled to his feet and shook his head as if dazed. He was slow to look around, but when he did, he gave another loud bellow as he saw the rest of the charging band being funneled onto the bridge by their speeding steeds. The unseated one dove toward the rail and cleared it in an ungainly leap just ahead of the racing group, landing a fraction of a moment later flat on his face in the icy water below. The last that was seen of him, he was struggling to stay afloat as his heavy clothes dragged him down and the swift current tumbled him over and over in the shallow bed.
His companions gave no thought to helping him as the first one plowed into the dying horse and was rapidly followed by the others. The last rider avoided the tangle on the bridge, but his mount took the bit and raced off into a growth of briars. The horse screamed and bucked as the thorns raked his legs. On the third energetic leap, the steed and rider parted company, and the latter sailed high into the air before coming down with flailing limbs and, as he disappeared into the briar bushes, a crescendoing shriek.
Chuckling, Lord Saxton came to his feet and discharged the second musket into the air. The brigands completely lost heart for the charge and redoubled their efforts to extricate themselves from the chaos on the bridge.
A loud, cackling laugh came from the top of the carriage, and Bundy hooted, “Ye did it, milord! Ye upsot every one of ’em! Ain’ nobody what gots an eye for a shot like ye, milord.”
“Are you all right up there?” his lordship questioned.
Bundy chortled. “All except Aggie, who’s in bit o’ a tiff ’bout her squashed bonnet.”
Another brief chuckle came from Lord Saxton. Dragging his lame foot back to the carriage, he slid the muskets onto the floor and looked up at his young wife. “And you, madam? How have you fared?”
Erienne smiled. “I am quite well, milord, thanks to you.”
Lord Saxton swung himself into the interior and closed the door behind him. When he had seated himself, he rapped once with his cane on the small upper hatch, and the coach lurched into motion. As Erienne watched, he reloaded the four emptied muskets, laid them in their places inside the compartment, then closed the cushioned lid. He felt his wife’s stare as he leaned back in the seat and looked at her.
“You would stare at a cripple, madam?” Humor was heavy in his whispered voice.
“You amaze me, milord.” Erienne shook her head with a quick, negative movement. “You seem to be ill at ease in this world, and yet you deal with its difficulties so remarkably well. I get the feeling that in spite of your handicaps you are a step or two ahead of most people.”
“I will take that as a compliment, my love.”
Erienne pressed her curiosity farther and couched her statement as a half question. “You handled the guns with unusual skill.”
“The result of long practice, dear Erienne.”
“You have no doubt heard of Christopher Seton and his purported skill at dueling. Do you think you could best him?”
Her husband’s answer was preceded by a derisive laugh. “Such an event would prove most fascinating, even to me, but I do not tempt fate, my dear, by dwelling on such remote possibilities.”
“I did not mean to imply a possibility, milord,” Erienne apologized. “I only meant to learn where you would place a man of such skill.”
“By my side, had I the choice. ’Tis not wise to foolishly antagonize a man adept with weapons.”
“My father and brother,” she said slowly. “Are they fools in your eyes?”
“Your father? I hesitate to judge.” He laughed easily and dusted the knee of his breeches. “I am sure that before I would yield you up, I would prove myself a fool several times over.” He paused and considered his wife, who sat erect, eyes averted, while she tried to subdue a blush. “Your brother? He failed to consider his choices and rashly chose wrong. The hasty spirit of youth perhaps, but he suffers much from his own making.”
“You are truthful and honest, milord,” Erienne assured him, still unable to meet his unflinching gaze. “I cannot fault you for that.”
“If you think me so honorable, my love, hear me out. I do not hold with dueling, yet I have never stepped away from a contest of arms. If I could secure your love for myself with such an event, I would challenge all those who would come against me.”
Erienne was completely unprepared to deal with his statement. When she had given voice to the wedding vows, it had been with a bitter, acrid taste of betrayal in her mouth. The week of marriage that had gone by had brought her no closer to an attitude of yielding. She was perpetually impaled on the horns of her dilemma.
Turning her face aside, she stared out of the window and could think of no worthy comment. Lord Saxton’s eyes moved along the delicate profile, then dipped lower, to where the parted cloak revealed the full shape of her breast. His gaze lingered there for a pleasurable moment before gliding downward to where her gloved hands lay primly folded in her lap. He mentally sighed.
“Do you wish to stop in Mawbry to visit your family?” he asked after a moment.
“I have nothing to say to them, milord,” she murmured. “I would rather continue on to Saxton Hall.”
Lord Saxton braced his palms against the head of his cane while he mused on her answer. If she entertained some fears about what he might demand of her when they reached Saxton Hall, then she was not willing to spare herself by delaying it with a visit to her relatives.
The sun began to sink behind the horizon, bathing her face and bosom in the soft, golden light. Erienne knew he watched her, for she felt the heat of his gaze more firmly than the warmth of the sun. A time later she was relieved when the light faded from the heavens and darkness shielded her from that unswerving attention, but even then there was that strange quality about her husband that made her wonder if he were something more than human, if his eyes co
uld penetrate the ebony shadows, and if she would ever cease to feel the unsettling timidity she experienced in his presence.
When Erienne awoke the next morning, she found that Lord Saxton had taken his leave of the manor and left word that he might be gone for several days. She considered his absence as something of a reprieve, but her conscience was not totally free. Rolling up her sleeves, she set out to prove that she was a capable mistress of the house, if not yet a wife. She organized the servants, and while some were given the task of maintaining the living quarters of the manse, others were set to cleaning areas that were still bound by dust and time.
Though some of the tenants paid their rents in edible items, there were always spices and other precious and rare condiments to be purchased, and the kitchen had to be restocked with supplies. She compiled a list of necessities that warranted another trip to market, this one to be undertaken by Paine.
Curious about the tenants themselves, Erienne bade Tanner to bring the coach around. Armed with healing herbs, teas, and medicinal salves, she took Tessie and began visiting the cottages to see if there was a need that she could fill. There were grins aplenty to welcome her, and their bubbling laughter and beaming faces were visible proof that, despite his frightening appearance, they were thankful for Lord Saxton’s return. She was amazed by their fierce loyalty to the family, and she did not miss how their mouths tightened when Lord Talbot’s name was mentioned. The last years had not been easy for them, but with the rightful lord in his place, they were quick to express a new hope for their future.
Erienne came away with a newly sprouted seedling of respect growing within her for her husband, for in the brief visit she had learned that he was already easing their plight by reducing their rents and had done away with the laws imposed upon them by Lord Talbot, and in their stead had presented statutes that were fair and easy to live with. He had also imported a pair of bulls and nearly a dozen rams from Scotland, all of which promised to produce healthier, sturdier stock for the tenants. In more ways than one, she began to understand why the people welcomed her husband’s coming.
Chapter Ten
LORD SAXTON’S insistent rap on the door of the mayor’s cottage was answered by an impatient shout. After a brief stumbling sound, the portal was swung open to reveal a badly disheveled Farrell. The young man had his eyes downcast and was obviously not feeling his best. His face was ashen, and sagging red pouches underscored his eyes. When he raised his gaze, he stared in mute surprise at the darkly clothed one, seeming to forget his present malady.
“I have something to discuss with the mayor,” Lord Saxton announced bluntly. “Is he home?”
Farrell gave a lame nod and stepped back from the door, pulling it wider to admit the forbidding presence into the cottage. Farrell caught sight of the waiting landau and hesitantly gestured to the driver.
“Would yer man care to come in and wait by the fire in the kitchen? ’Tis a brutal day to be sittin’ out.”
“My business here will be brief,” Lord Saxton answered. “And Bundy seems’to prefer the cold.”
“I’ll get my father,” the younger man offered. “He’s tryin’ to cook up somethin’ to eat.”
“Either that, or burning something,” Lord Saxton remarked dryly as he caught a whiff of scorched grease that wafted from the rear of the house on a brown haze.
Farrell glanced toward the kitchen in chagrin. “ ’Tis a rare day that we have a decent meal. I think Father is only now beginnin’ to consider Erienne’s real worth.”
A harsh laugh came from the mask. “A late hour for that.”
The muscles in Farrell’s cheeks tensed, and he massaged his crippled arm as he turned slightly away from the other man. “I guess now that ye’ve got her, we won’t be seein’ her anymore.”
“That’s entirely up to my wife.”
Farrell gave him a challenging look, daring to lift his gaze to that black mask. “Ye mean ye’ll let us come and see her?”
“There are no chains on the doors of Saxton Hall.”
Farrell scoffed. “Well, there must be some reason why she’s not runnin’. She did here quickly enough. And ye’re not exactly”—he gulped as he realized the insult he had been about to give—“I mean…”
“Fetch your father,” Lord Saxton bade tersely. Sweeping his cumbered foot about, he entered the parlor, where he lowered his large frame into the chair beside the fireplace. Bracing a hand on the head of his cane and glancing about, he saw that the cottage was in a sad, untidy state. Clothes were scattered helter-skelter, and dirty dishes were piled on tables. It was readily evident that the two men who occupied the cottage were lacking not only Erienne’s cooking skills but her penchant for neatness as well.
Avery hesitated outside the parlor, hopefully composing his face in such a manner that his fear of his son-in-law would not be noted. “Ahhh, milord,” he greeted in a guise of enthusiasm as he came into the parlor. “I see ye’ve made yerself ter home.”
“Hardly!” The statement was curt.
The mayor stared at him in confusion, not knowing how to react. “I s’pose ye come here ter complain ’bout me girl.” He held up a hand as if to declare his innocence. “Whate’er she’s done, it weren’t me fault. Her mother’s ter blame. Filled the twit’s head with rubbish, she did. All that learnin’ and cipherin’…’tain’t good for a girl ter know all that stuff.”
Lord Saxton’s voice was like a breath of winter’s north wind as he spoke. “You sold her too cheaply, mayor. The sum of five thousand pounds was but a mere pittance of what I was willing to pay.” The brief chuckle that came held no humor. “But then, that is your loss. The matter is done with, and I have what I want.”
Avery slowly sank into the chair behind him and closed his gaping mouth. “Ye mean…ye would o’…paid more for the twit?”
“I would easily have doubled the amount.”
The mayor cast a glance about the room, feeling suddenly miserable. “Why…I’da been a rich man.”
“I wouldn’t feel too badly if I were you. It probably would not have lasted too long.”
Avery peered at him closely, unable to mark the insult clearly. “If ye weren’t intendin’ ter bend me ear with complaints, why’d ye come?”
“I wanted to report an attack on my carriage.” Lord Saxton saw the surprise of the other and further explained. “I was returning from Wirkinton with my wife when highwaymen tried to overtake us. Fortunately I was prepared for them.”
“Yer coach, milord?”
“Aye! My coach.”
“Ye say ye were expectin’ ’em?”
“Not at that moment, but I had guessed that sooner or later they would try to take my coach.”
“Seein’s as how ye’re here ter tell about it, I s’pect ye did ’em some damage.”
“Two of the highwaymen were killed, and I would guess the rest were badly shaken.”
“I ain’t heard a word about it.”
“For a mayor, you’re not very well informed.”
Avery blustered in hot anger until he felt the cold, unfaltering stare that seemed to pierce him through, and he promptly lost courage. “ ’Tis the sheriff’s duty ter tell me what happens here.”
“Then perhaps I should have sought the sheriff out instead.” Lord Saxton’s voice had grown no warmer. “But I thought you might be interested in learning that Erienne is safe.”
“Ah…well, she always seems ter do all right for herself. I never worry much about her. She’s strong…and willful.”
The glove hand tightened on the handle of the cane long before Lord Saxton chose to reply. “ ’Tis a rare father who shows such confidence in his daughter.” He issued a brief, derisive laugh. “Why, one could easily mistake it for lack of concern.”
“Huh?” Avery was momentarily perplexed.
“Never mind.” Lord Saxton rose to his feet. “I shall be going now. I have business to attend to in York.”
“Ah…gov’na,” Avery began and cleared his
throat sharply. “I was wonderin’ if maybe, seein’s as ye’re me girl’s husband and all, ye could spare a few quid for her poor family. We’ve been down on our luck, the boy and me, and we narrowly have a coin ter our name. We had ter sell ol’ Socrates…and since ye said ye were willin’ ter pay more…”
“I have set aside an allowance for your daughter.” His lordship’s tone was harsh. “If she chooses to help you, she may, but I will give nothing more to you without her approval.”
“Ye let a woman run yer affairs?” Avery blurted in surprise.
“Her family is her affair,” Lord Saxton answered brusquely.
“She’s got a powerful mean heart toward me since I sold her.”
“That, Mayor, is your problem, not mine.”
A Rose in Winter Page 24