A Rose in Winter

by Kathleen E. Woodiwiss

  Parker shrugged. “Your husband has made me curious to see what the mask hides. Believe me, before he leaves these chambers, I will see what lies underneath that helm.”

  Erienne twisted her hands in a fretting, anxious manner. “I am most certain that you will not be pleased with what you find.”

  “Be that as it may, I will appease my curiosity,” he promised. He glanced at Haggard and directed harshly, “Summon me when Miss Talbot is ready to leave.”

  With that, he turned and hastened down the stairs. Haggard stepped in front of the door, and his broad back once again filled the small opening. Erienne released a long, ragged sigh and faced her husband, accepting the crimson gown from him.

  “Quickly now!” he whispered urgently. “Get dressed!”

  Claudia writhed against her bonds, and Christopher ventured back to stand before his prisoner, meeting her vicious glare with a smile.

  “My apologies, Miss Talbot, but I fear you must suffer with the mask a bit longer.”

  “Mmmm!” She shook her head wildly.

  Christopher restored his sword to the cane and lounged lazily in the chair across from Claudia as he awaited his wife, enjoying the view Erienne presented as she dressed in the corner beside the door. Though the gown hung loose about her waist, it stretched tightly across her bosom. There was, of course, little time for a proper fitting. Hurriedly she coiled her hair on top of her head, securing it with pins, then donned the hat.

  “How do I look?” she asked worriedly as she came to stand before her husband. She could not help but wonder at what depth the deception would be tested and if she could carry it off.

  “The color becomes you, my dear.” He caught the empty fold at her waist in his hand and peered up at her with a grin. “Perhaps you’ll even grow into it in a few more months.”

  A derisive snort echoed from the mask, and the cloaked figure twisted as Claudia fought against her bonds. Christopher was undismayed as he took Erienne on his knee. Slipping an arm behind her waist, he laid the other across her lap, and once again they enjoyed a long, blissful kiss, though the ire of the one across from them grew by leaps and bounds.

  Haggard’s stentorian announcement intruded into the moment. “The food is coming!”

  Footsteps came up the stairs, and Erienne moved to stand beside the window in the corner, turning her face aside, while Christopher hefted his cane and slipped into the privy. The key rattled in the lock, and the door was pushed open to admit two swarthy, unshaven men, one bearing a tray with several bowls of the usual, while the other stood guard inside the door with Haggard.

  “Put the food on the table,” Haggard directed the man unnecessarily, then nudged his companion sharply in the ribs with an elbow. “Ye’d best keep an eye on his lordship there,” he warned from the corner of his mouth. “A man what wears a mask is always tryin’ ter hide some’in’.”

  The logic of his statement was lost on the man as that one admired the feminine form dressed out in crimson. Hitching up his britches, he swaggered toward Erienne. Talbot’s daughter was even prettier up close than what he had first thought, and he cleared his throat to express the idea. “Me name’s Irving…yer ladyship, and I want ye ter know, I think ye’re a right fine-lookin’ woman.”

  Erienne glanced around nervously, seeing the man and Haggard coming toward her. The other who bore the tray set his burden down on the table and was about to place the bowls on the planks when he noticed the seated one wiggling his knees. The cloak slipped aside, revealing a goodly wealth of petticoats. The hooded head bobbed vigorously, and curiously he reached forward to pull away the mask. He never heard the one who came upon him from behind. A solid thud of Christopher’s cane at the back of his head abruptly darkened his world, and before he completely crumpled, he was hauled backward toward the privy.

  Erienne glanced from the leering guard to Haggard, trying to find some semblance of an encouraging smile to keep their interest, but Irving glanced back over his shoulder at the almost imperceptible sound of something being dragged and saw the boots of his companion disappearing into the alcove.

  “Eh! What’re ye doin’?” he demanded, snatching for the pistol in his belt as he came around. Haggard followed the man’s lead while Erienne caught up a broken arm of a chair that was near at hand. She was dismayed at which man to strike first, but since Haggard was nearer, chose him as her victim. She raised the club to apply it with force against Haggard’s thick skull, but to her amazement he lifted his own weapon and brought the butt of it down hard on Irving’s head. That one slithered to the floor, as if the air had been expelled from his huge body. Throwing back a grin at Erienne, who had not fully recovered from her slack-jawed astonishment, Haggard quickly removed the pistol from the man’s hand and tossed it to Christopher as he stepped from the alcove.

  “How many?” Christopher asked as he checked the loading.

  “Three downstairs. Parker’s probably in the barracks with the rest.”

  Erienne closed her mouth as her husband came to stand beside her and eased her bemusement with an introduction. “If you have not met him before, my dear, this is Haggard Bentworth. Though no one knew him as such, he was my brother’s servant. A most loyal one, to be sure.”

  “A pleasure,” Erienne responded, fighting a sudden mistiness in her eyes, and extended a hand toward the man, who took it and bobbed his head.

  “The pleasure is mine, mum, and I’m sorry I couldn’t tell ye sooner.” He faced Christopher with a small, disjointed shrug. “I couldn’t get away ter tell ye where they had taken her either, milord,” he explained. “They didn’t trust me.”

  “Perhaps your heart isn’t black enough for their liking.” Christopher smiled and then gestured toward the door. “We’d better get another one up here to even the odds.”

  Haggard stripped the waistcoat from the unconscious man, giving it to Christopher, who quickly donned it. Together they carried Irving into the privy and dumped him beside his companion. After renewing his warning to Claudia, Christopher took up his position beside the door, while Erienne returned to the window and Haggard moved to the head of the stairs, where he called down. “Eh, ye blokes, Miss Talbot wants some wine ter go wit’ her vittles. Fetch her up ’at bottle what we set aside for his lordship.”

  Haggard went to stand beside the table, and after a moment plodding footsteps came up the stairs. A burly rogue paused at the doorway and thrust out the bottle, making no attempt to enter the room. Haggard nodded toward the crimson-gowned figure.

  “Yer ladyship be wantin’ ter speak wit’ ye.”

  The man pushed his hat back from his brow and peered into the room suspiciously. “Where’s Irving and Bates?”

  Haggard waved his hand casually to where Christopher stood flattened against the wall beside the door. “There’s yer man.”

  Unable to see anyone, the burly fellow stepped into the room. His head jolted back as a solid fist met his face, and for good measure Christopher lowered the butt of his pistol on the man’s head in a powerful downward stroke. Christopher caught the sagging form and carried him into the privy to add to their collection. He confiscated the man’s hat and pulled it low over his brow.

  “Two left, you say?” Christopher questioned Haggard, tucking the pistol in his belt. He received a nod. “Then let’s be about it.”

  Leaving the room together, Christopher trailed behind as Haggard stumbled his way down the stairs. Erienne waited tensely, hearing their laughter mingle as they neared the lower level.

  Only one of the men glanced up from the blanket as Haggard came into sight. “C’mon, Haggie,” he urged with a chortle. “We needs yer money if hit’s ter be a game at all.”

  The second man turned his head and managed only a brief squeal of warning before Christopher’s fist snapped his head about. The man spilled to the floor as Haggard stepped forward to deliver the butt of a pistol with abrupt results to the first one’s skull. The first man lit rolling, scrambling for his weapon, but Chris
topher pinned his grasping arm beneath a boot and chopped down with his fist again. Slumping into a quiet, uncaring slumber, the man gave up his struggle.

  Christopher accumulated the weapons, shoving them into his own belt, then returned with Haggard upstairs. Erienne’s relief was visible in her face, and catching her hand and taking her with him, Christopher went to lean against the table where Claudia could see him. “The time has come for us to depart your company, Miss Talbot. You may keep the mask and cloak, of course, more or less as trade for the gown or, if you prefer, a memento of our undying gratitude. Show them to your father when he arrives and tell him Lord Christopher Stuart Saxton has come to these climes to avenge the death of his brother and father. His greed for power and wealth has been his undoing.”

  Her snarl was muffled by the gag, and her foot twitched as if she yearned to kick him. She glared at him through the eyeholes, and if looks could kill, he should have fallen in a million delicate slices.

  Christopher touched his fingertips to his brow in a casual farewell salute. “Good day, Miss Talbot.”

  One of the highwaymen in the barracks leaned against the frame of the open door and watched as two men and a woman left the tower. “Look at that, will ye?” he laughed. “That Haggard can’t even walk without stumblin’. Why, he nearly knocked the Talbot bitch on her arse.”

  “No more than what she deserves,” Parker muttered as he tipped his hat back away from his eyes. He had been dozing in front of the blazing hearth with his feet propped on a low stool while he awaited the summons from Haggard.

  A long moment of silence passed, then the man guffawed again. “There he goes agin. I swear, he’ll kill himself afore they gets through the gate.”

  “The gate?” Allan’s feet came to the floor as he suddenly sat up. “The Talbots’ coach is by the stable, not the gate.” He moved to the door to see for himself, then his eyes flared wide. “You fool!” he bellowed. “That’s Lady Saxton, not Claudia! And Seton! How the hell did he…? To arms, you blithering dolts! To arms, I say! They’re escaping!”

  Men scrambled everywhere in wild confusion, slamming into each other as they searched out weapons. The loud commands and the commotion sounded the warning for the three. They were almost at the gate and made a dash for it. Erienne lifted her skirts to her knees as Christopher pulled her along with him. The red, plumed hat sailed off unnoticed to mark the point of their passing.

  As soon as he cleared the gate, Christopher gave a piercing whistle that seemed to shatter the quietness of the countryside. “Run!” he yelled to his companions. “The coach will be coming around! I’ll see if I can discourage them.”

  “Oh, please, Christopher!” Erienne cried fearfully. “Come with us!”

  “Haggard, see to her!” he commanded.

  The man caught her arm and dragged her from her husband’s side, urging her into a run down the sloping side. Christopher halted a short distance beyond the gate and took aim with one of the pistols. The ball plowed through the open doorway, narrowly missing Parker, who was leading the charge out. Another shot smashed through a boarded window and whined viciously through the room, making men dive for cover. It was just enough to keep them worried for a while and fearful of raising their heads.

  “Up, you laggards!” Allan shouted when no further shots were fired. “To horse! Run them down!” His eyes filled with rage as the men delayed, and without warning, he raised his pistol and fired a shot into the timbered ceiling, winning their undivided attention. “After them, damn you, or the next shot will be in one of you!”

  There was a mad scramble for the door, and the men crowded through it in a mass of jumbled bodies, all willing to obey at once. Once past the barracks’ portal, they stumbled over each other as they ran toward their horses.

  Erienne’s slippers were hardly meant for running on the uneven stones, but even so, she surprised Haggard with her speed once Christopher turned to follow them. He gained on them rapidly as the coach emerged from the trees. Tanner had stoked the team up with several cracks of the whip, and they were coming on fast. Erienne’s heart fell as Christopher halted again some two score yards beyond the moat. A musket ball plowed into the turf beside him, and another whipped overhead as three men on horseback charged through the gate. He seemed in no hurry to take aim, but when he did, his movement was sudden and sure. The piece bucked and roared, giving forth with a puff of smoke, and the lead rider was plucked from his steed. The rider’s companions were greatly discouraged when Christopher turned the sights of another pistol toward them. They dove headlong from their horses into a gulley, heedless of its rocky bed and the pain it caused them.

  The coach came forward, and the thunder of charging hooves filled the air as Tanner cracked the whip high over the horses’ heads. Almost immediately he was pulling on the reins and standing on the brakes to halt the team beside the two who were running toward them.

  “Where’s Lord Saxton?” Tanner yelled down to them.

  “That’s Lord Saxton!” Bundy pointed toward Christopher, who was quickly gaining on the pair with his long-legged reach. “That’s him without his mask!”

  “But that’s Mr. Se—!”

  “Saxton!” Bundy barked and took up a pair of long, wicked-looking Yankee rifles he had tucked beside him and tossed them down to Christopher as that one halted beside them.

  While some men were still chasing down loose horses in the courtyard of the castle, others had mounted and were charging across the planks that bridged the gully. Christopher knelt in the dust beside the coach while Haggard lifted Erienne inside. Christopher wet the bead at the muzzle of a rifle, then brought it up quickly to his shoulder. The light gun barked and jumped, and though the cloud of smoke was small, one of the men cried out and tumbled from the saddle. He hefted the other gun, and another man fell to the dust.

  Haggard had climbed inside the coach, and a musket roared as he followed Christopher’s lead.

  “Got ’em!” he cried in enthusiasm as Christopher swung inside. His feet had no more than left the ground than Tanner slapped the reins and set the team in motion.

  Sheriff Parker jerked his arm toward the departing conveyance. “After them! Don’t let them out of your sight! I know where they’re going, but I want you to nip at their tails all the way home!” As some more men swung up on their steeds to give chase, he yelled to one, “Ride and get more men! Join us at Saxton Hall! I’ll be along after I see to that Talbot brat!”

  Parker ground his teeth as he strode across the courtyard toward the tower. He had come into Lord Talbot’s services more than five years ago, though a bit more than three of those had been as the sheriff. It had been a guise both of them had laughed about, but it had helped to lead suspicion away from him. It had been his own idea to burn the east wing of the manor after Edmund Saxton had ridden into their camp by accident and recognized him among the raiders. Talbot had heartily agreed with the deed, of course, for he had hated the Saxtons from the first and coveted their wealth and lands. Some score years ago his lordship had led his own raid on Saxton Hall and had slain the old lord when his accusations of treachery against Broderick Saxton had been dismissed as having no merit. Though Talbot had friends at Court still pleading for his cause to cast the Saxtons from their lands, it seemed that that family also had acquaintances just as powerful working to reestablish the Saxton house and honor.

  Despite all of Talbot’s efforts, however, things were going swiftly awry. Christopher Seton was to blame for much of it. It seemed he had no more than touched feet on the soil of these northern climes but that he began to thwart and torment them. He had frightened Timmy Sears near to death, and Timmy, the big man that he was, had come blubbering of all he had confessed to the night rider. He had held back the names of the leaders and therefore had to be slain before he also spilled that information. Ben Mose had also known more than he should have, and it was for that reason he was killed. Now, with Seton free to wreak vengeance for the taking of his woman, their woes were s
ure to increase. Claudia would be the first one of those to surmount.

  Parker stepped over the inert bodies of his men in the tower and took the stairs three at a time. He stepped into the cell cautiously and frowned at the scene that greeted him, most of all at the black-garbed figure beside the table. With saber drawn, he approached carefully from behind and quickly snatched the leather helm free. The curled coiffure of Claudia Talbot greeted him before her head turned and her glare came upon him. Her eyes fairly crackled with rage. He loosed the gag but realized his mistake as she launched into a venomous tirade.

  “You fools! Could you not see that Christopher was playing a game with you?! He is Lord Saxton!”

  The sheriff’s surprise dwindled readily as the full realization dawned. Of course! Why did he not think of it himself? Timmy Sears had whined that the night rider was the lord of Saxton Hall who had returned from the dead to haunt him.

  Fool! he thought. You let that many-faced man deceive you with his tricks!

  Claudia was not timid about placing the blame on someone else, quickly forgetting that she had also been duped. As he labored at the knots that held her imprisoned, Allan heard his reputation besmirched—nay, flogged and slain—his parentage reviewed with rampant speculations as to its legitimacy and content of humankind, and even a few choice epithets leveled at her sire. By the time he freed her, he was of the firm opinion that his own well-seasoned soldier’s adjectives had just been put to shame.