Barely an hour after Lord Saxton’s landau departed on the eastern road leading to York, the travel-worn Christopher Seton entered town on the south road from Wirkinton. He led his equally road-weary horse to the stable at the rear of the inn, where he bade the boy take extra care with the animal and for a reward tossed him a bright tuppence.
Christopher had no more than stepped out from the stable doorway when he felt fingers plucking at his sleeve. He glanced aside to find Ben scuttling along beside him, a wide and partly toothless grin on his ruddy face.
“ ’Hain’t seen ye in a week or so, gov’na,” the old tar chortled. “Ol’ Ben was afeared ye’d met wit’ yer Maker. Ye been keepin’ yerself busy?”
“I had to see to my ship in Wirkinton.” Christopher did not halt or slow his pace but laughed as he pushed open the back door of the inn. “Only the good die young, Ben. You and I will be around after many suns have set.”
They navigated the short hall that led into the common room and moved toward the table near the window. Molly’s eyes lit up when she recognized the tall form. She shrugged her blouse off her shoulders, letting it sag low over her bosom, and gave Christopher a coy smile as he motioned for two mugs. In a moment she was there, sliding the brimming tankards onto the table.
“Thought ye might o’ left ol’ Mawbry for good, gov’na,” she crooned as she braced her hands on the table and leaned forward, giving him a very personal review of her ripe bosom. “I’da been mighty sad if ye hadn’t come back.”
Christopher glanced up, briefly noting the immodest display that bared her large nipples. He leaned back in his chair and tossed down several coins. “Just the ale, Molly. Nothing else.”
Miffed, she straightened and flounced away. She didn’t know whose petticoats he was getting beneath, but whoever the woman was, she had to be sapping his strength with her demands. Why else would such a stalwart, virile-looking man deny a generous offer when it was placed before his naked eyes?
Ben licked his lips in eager anticipation as he took up his tankard. “Gov’na, ye’re as good as me own muther, God rest her soul.” He dispatched a goodly share of the brew before he lowered it again. With a deep sigh of appreciation, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “So! Ye’ve been away, ye ’ave, an’ ye gone an’ missed all the ’appenin’s ’ereabouts.”
“Happenings?” Christopher leisurely quaffed his ale as he regarded his companion with patient expectation.
“Aye, gov’na.” Ben relished the opportunity to brief his benefactor. “ ’At Lord Saxton, he’s up and married the mayor’s daughter, and just yesterday almost got hisself waylaid by a bunch o’ bloody pirates, he did.”
Christopher’s brows came together in a worried frown. “Was anyone hurt?”
“Oh, his missus was with him, all right.” Ben snickered knowingly and leaned closer. “But ye needn’t concern yerself ’bout her. It were only ’em thieves what got hurt. His lordship killed a couple an’ set the rest ter their heels.” Ben’s voice lowered to a hoarse whisper. “I hears as how there ain’t a one o’ ’em ken walk without a hitch.”
Christopher digested the information in silence until a drum of hoofbeats broke into his musings. Ben rose and peeked out the front window. Just as quickly he was back.
“I’ll…uh…see ye later, gov’na.”
Ben guzzled the contents of his mug before fading back into the shadows at the rear of the room. He propped a chair against the wall and seemed to doze almost as soon as he settled into it.
A moment later the door burst open, and Timmy Sears stomped into the inn. Treading on his heels, Haggard glanced happily about, then almost jumped out of his shoes when he saw Christopher at the table near the window. He caught Timmy’s arm and frantically gestured, seeming to have difficulty finding the words to speak. His companion turned to see what was troubling him, and the red brows shot up as he found the reason for Haggard’s dither.
“I’m wounded,” Timmy declared, hastily sweeping his cloak aside to reveal an arm hanging in a sling.
“So I see,” Christopher calmly replied while he further appraised the man’s condition. Timmy’s woolen coat was short in sleeves and length and was stretched taut across the broad shoulders. His clothes were wrinkled, as if he had put them on too soon after a washing, while his boots had a slightly dampish look and were turned up at the toes.
Molly was curious and beat a hasty path to his side. “ ’Ere now, Timmy dear. Ye look like ye were trampled by a herd o’ swine.”
“Almost was, Molly.” He slipped his good arm about her shoulders and mumbled beneath his breath. “Bunch o’ witless fools.” He cleared his throat and spoke so all could hear. “Nah! Me crazy ol’ nag took a cropper on a patch o’ ice and sent me sailin’.”
Keeping a wary eye on the Yankee, Haggard sidled to the bar and chortled nervously. “Wish I’da seen ye.”
Timmy glared at his companion, then dismissed him from mind as he lifted the bandaged wing. “ ’Tain’t broke, just a bit stiff. Hah, busted me mount, though. Had ter put another shot into him.”
“Another shot?” Molly looked up at him innocently.
“I mean as how he busted his leg, and I had ter finish him off.”
“How’d ye get here, then, if ye plinked him?”
“Got me another one.” Timmy drew himself up. “A better one than that old nag.”
“Hah, I’ll bet!” Molly said, laughing. “An’ who’d ye steal it from this time?”
Timmy’s face took on a dark look, and he scowled at her. “If ye thinks I’d stoop ter thievery…Why, here…” He fished with two fingers into the pocket of his waistcoat. “Look what I brought ye.”
He held a pair of gold earrings and dangled them in front of her eyes, which immediately grew large and soft. Molly forgot all about teasing him and even put Christopher Seton out of mind for the moment.
“Ohhh, Timmy, ye’re too good ter me. Always bringin’ me trinkets an’ whatnots.” She took one from him and held it to her ear. “Want ter come up,” she indicated the stairs with a tilt of her head, “an’…uh…see how they look on me?”
“Don’t know,” Timmy replied casually. “Where’d ye have it in mind to wear ’em?”
“Why, in me room, o’ course.” Molly stared at him with a puzzled frown, then thumped his shoulder with a light blow, eliciting a wince of pain. “Awwwh, Timmy, yer allays funnin’. Come on.”
Molly hitched up her skirt and took the stairs in a prim gallop. Timmy needed no further urging to lope at her heels.
The night was dark, and Timmy Sears was restless. His life had not been much fun lately. He had been well battered and bruised. He had been shamed in front of his friends. And if that was not enough, his wife had begun making demands on him. One of his companions, maybe that blundering lickspittle Haggard, had made a casual comment comparing his hundred quid to the five thousand laid out at the roup. His wife had quickly seized upon the fact that he had money. There followed a verbal listing of nigh unto a thousand things they needed. New tiles for the roof. New dishes for the table. Indeed, a new table and chairs to replace the good, sturdy bench they had shared these many years. A bolt of cloth, threads, needles. Some of this and a little of that. A new pot for the hearth, since the old one was perilously thin at the bottom. And on…and on…and on…
Timmy sat up in bed and ran his hands through his shaggy hair. What did the woman think he was made of, anyway, that he could support her in the lap of luxury like some…some…Christopher Seton! The name surged through his mind, and around it his woes seethed.
“Sneakin’ around and disturbin’ the peace o’ Mawbry homes,” he mumbled. “Woundin’ young lads and accusin’ the mayor hisself o’ cheatin’, then snatchin’ the money for the girl right from under the old man’s nose. Why, Avery didn’t even have enough left for a good toot.”
Sears chuckled to himself and sucked his teeth in sheer envy. “How’d the Yankee do it? The way he sports about, one might get the idea he ha
s as much power as Lord Talbot, or that highfalutin Saxton…”
Timmy’s chin jutted, and his brows beetled in ponderous thought. “Now, that’s another one.” He rubbed his arm as the memory of his plunge into the icy water was brought painfully to mind. He had been so close to dealing a blow to the rumors that the man was a ghost, but his plan had been rudely cheated. Now he felt a need for revenge. “One way or the other, he’ll pay.”
Timmy climbed from the bed carefully so as not to rouse his spouse. She had grown most amorous of late, and he was a bit weary of her unwarranted attention. Besides, she had lost another tooth just that morning, and he was not used to her lopsided smile yet.
His stomach rumbled as the greasy stew from supper changed its angle of attack and shifted across his belly. He eased open the back door and made his way toward the privy, being careful where he placed his bare feet. His hounds had a way of littering the countryside with all manner of debris, and he’d just as soon avoid getting his toes tangled in something.
The distance of the privy from the cottage compromised convenience with comfort in the form of the prevailing breezes. He made his way unhindered and swung open the creaky door. He settled himself inside, and a few moments later sank into a dreamy half-awake state. Something stirred outside, and he blinked himself to attention until he caught the sound again. It was like a horse stamping an impatient hoof. He stood up and leaned forward to push the door wide, then peered out.
The night’s depth of darkness was impenetrable, then a breeze stirred, and the clouds allowed a shaft of moonlight to sweep across the yard. Sears’ breath sucked in with a ragged, wheezing sound, but a shriek of pure terror caught in his throat. There, standing in the silvered light, was a huge black horse whose eyes seemed to blaze with white fire, and on his back was a shadowed being with great wings spread out from his shoulders, as if he were making ready to launch himself from the steed’s back.
A hoarse, squawking scream tore itself from Timmy’s throat, and he whirled, leaping. His foot struck upon the seat, and he hardly paused as with the strength of three men he burst through the thin boards that sheathed the rear of the privy. Before his feet touched earth, his legs were already driving in a fearsome pace. They carried him without hesitation toward a mass of thornbushes several rods away.
A peal of terrifying laughter rang out behind him, and he redoubled his pounding progress. He did not halt as he plunged deep in the protection of the thicket, hardly aware of the thorns that shredded his nightshirt and hide.
Later he swore that he had heard the beat of ghostly hooves close behind him, and his wife smiled and noddingly commented that he had run so fast it took him until nearly four in the morning to reach the cottage again. His friends at the Boar’s Inn who knew of Timmy’s bent toward brawling buried their laughter in mugs before agreeing in strained, stentorian tones that his bravery had been stouthearted in the face of the winged creature.
The days of Lord Saxton’s absence numbered four, and though she had kept busy with her duties as mistress of the manor, Erienne grew restive within the stone walls. She remembered her husband’s statement that if she desired an outing, she was free to ride the mare from the stables. Taking him at his word, she garbed herself in riding habit and went down to present her plea to Keats.
Since her arrival at Saxton Hall, she had not ventured to the stables, though the idea of escape had nibbled at her thoughts and she had wondered how far she would get taking one of her husband’s horses. The overriding fear that he would come after her and she would then have to deal with his wrath put quick death to such meanderings of the mind. The only place where she could even hope to find safety was with Christopher Seton, but her pride would never yield that victory to him. If he had truly cared about her as he had claimed, he could have at least presented some form of protest about the roup. Instead, he had readily accepted payment for the debts and voiced no objection to her being bought by another man. When last she saw him, he had seemed most content with his freedom, and if she ran to him now, ready to give all he demanded of her, then surely she would only be feeding his arrogance. She had no doubt that an affair with him would be wildly exciting, but one day she would have to face the fact that he was just using her for a time. When another woman came along whom he liked better, it would be the end. It was better that she saved herself such grief before falling hopelessly in love with him.
When she entered the stables, Erienne saw a youth about her size and near an age of ten and five cleaning a far stall. He straightened as the door squeaked behind her, then his eyes widened as he caught sight of her. He came at a run to meet her, and snatching off his hat, halted before her. He bobbed his head forward several times in what might have been a hesitant bow, and the grin that split his face made her smile.
“Are you Keats?” she inquired.
“Aye, mum,” he replied eagerly and gave another jerky bow.
“I don’t think we’ve met. I’m…”
“Oh, I know who you are, mum. I’ve seen ye comin’ and goin’, and…beggin’ yer pardon, mum…I’d have ter be blind not ter notice a mistress as comely as yerself.”
Erienne laughed. “Why, thank you, Keats.”
His face took on a deeper hue of red, and slightly befuddled by his boldness, he gestured toward a dark mare with white stockings that stood in a nearby stall. “The master said ye might be comin’ ter fetch Morgana. Would ye be wantin’ me ter saddle her for ye, mum?”
“I would like that immensely.”
If it were possible, the grin widened, and he slapped his hat against his flanks as he spun joyfully about. He led the mare from her stall and held her for Erienne’s inspection. The animal seemed of a calm, friendly spirit as she nuzzled the lad’s arm, yet she was of a class that would have made Socrates shrivel in dismayed embarrassment. She was nearly black and silky smooth with a long-flowing mane and tail.
Erienne scratched the dark neck. “She’s beautiful.”
“Aye, that she is, mum, and she’s yers. The master said so.”
Erienne was overwhelmed. She had never owned a horse before and certainly had never considered that she would possess an animal of Morgana’s beauty. The gift pleased her and made her even more aware of her husband’s generosity. Though she had not yielded as she had promised, the presents still continued to flow. Whatever the depths of his scars, he seemed to be several steps above Smedley Goodfield and the host of other suitors who would have stopped the gifts at the first hint of her rejection.
“Would ye be wantin’ me ter go with ye, mum?” Keats asked when the mare stood ready.
“No, that won’t be necessary. I shan’t be gone long, and I plan to stay in sight of the manor.”
Keats locked his hands together to accept the slender booted foot and was amazed at the agility his mistress displayed as she was boosted into the saddle. Indeed, she was like a feather briefly touching his hands. As she rode away, he stood at the door of the stables and stared after her until he felt assured that she could handle the mount, then he turned back to his labors, whistling an airy tune. He had already come to the conclusion that the master was as gifted at choosing a wife as he was at selecting horses. They certainly were a right fine lot to look at, every last one of them.
Erienne avoided the black rubble of the east wing as she passed the manor, for it reminded her of her husband’s stark mask and her own inability to conform to a wifely state. The air was cold against her face as she raced over the moors, yet she found it exhilarating, and she inhaled its freshness. The mare was swift and agile, quick to respond to her hand. Erienne felt in unison with it, and the tension that had chained her the past two weeks began to slip away.
Nearly an hour later she was in a valley to the east of the manor, in an opening that was banked by a wooded area on three sides. She had slowed the horse’s gait to a walk when the distant sound of baying hounds caught her attention. Her heart doubled its beat as the memory of snarling jowls and sharp fangs flashed thr
ough her mind. A sudden foreboding descended upon her, and though she could see the manor on the hill behind her, it was too far away to lend any comforting thoughts of protection.
She had to fight an overriding panic as she turned the mare about and retraced her path across the valley. Her fears were diminishing as she neared the wooded copse. In another few moments she would be safe at the manor, and she began to relax, unaware of the eyes that watched her from the woods.
Timmy Sears chortled to himself and rubbed his bruised arm. Vengeance on this so-called Lord Saxton would taste sweet as he took his pleasure on the girl. Seeing as how the Yankee had wanted her too, the revenge would be twofold.
He kicked his horse, sending it thrashing from the trees and onto the lane in front of Erienne, startling a cry from her. The mare danced away at this unexpected confrontation, and she had to fight to keep her control over the animal. Timmy’s broad hand reached out for the reins, but Erienne was incensed at his boldness and brought the quirt slashing down across his wrist.
A Rose in Winter Page 25