“I’d enjoy any of your opportunity,” Robert replied with a sigh. He had gambled away much of his own inheritance and, indeed, traveled with Jamie now in the hopes of meeting a lady of fortune who would appreciate his fine lineage and ignore his lack of a purse.
“If you choose to come with me, I will deed you a thousand acres of your own.”
“Acres covered with savages and pines!”
“It is an Eden, Robert. Raw and savage, yes, but with the promise of paradise.” He pulled up on his bay suddenly, for they had come to the outskirts of town, and they could no longer pass easily on the road, for there was a funeral procession passing by. People stepped out of the way. An old crone looked up at the two of them and whistled softly. “ ’Tis nobility! Best we give way!”
“Nay, woman!” Jamie said. “Hold your peace. All men are holden unto God, and we would not disturb those who grieve.” The woman stared at him and nodded slowly. Windwalker pawed the cold earth, impatient to be on, but Jamie held him still. He watched as a bony nag dragged a cart forward. There was a gable-roofed wooden coffin upon the cart, but Jamie saw that it was constructed so that the foot of the coffin would give way.
Apparently the family had not been able to afford the cost of a permanent coffin. When the final words had been spoken, the shrouded corpse would be cast into the earth, and the coffin retrieved.
The day was nearly as cold as the night had been. But behind the cart with the coffin walked a black-swathed woman. Slim but very straight, she did not cry; she made no noise and held herself with the greatest pride. Yet in the very stiffness of her spine, Jamie sensed something of her grief. Pain so great that she dared not give way to it.
“Who has died?” Robert queried softly. The old crone snorted. “Linnet Dupré. Her Majesty, the actress. Though were ye to ask me, my fine lord, I’d say that Master John as well as killed her, for he is a mean one. She never had no strength. Were it not for that girl of hers, she’d have languished in Newgate long ago.”
Listening, Jamie frowned. A gust of wind caught the black hood on the woman’s head at last, causing it to fall about her shoulders. It was Jassy, the wench who had so fascinated him the night before. The thief.
His jaw hardened for a moment, then he relaxed, and he almost smiled. Well, her fascination had been for Robert. And perhaps she had been stealing for a reason. Perhaps she had longed to buy a proper coffin.
Or perhaps her mother had even lived and needed medication.
“Why, look, ’tis the beautiful tavern wench!” Robert exclaimed.
“Indeed,” Jamie agreed.
“Perhaps we could help her. Perhaps we could be of service.”
Jamie thought dryly of the night gone past and determined that she would not want any help from him. And yet she had taken the coin he had tossed her. He would never forget her eyes, though. They had burned like sapphires in the night, blue fire filled with hatred and a fierce, fighting spirit.
There was more about her he might not forget, he reminded himself. She was beautiful, of course. She had all her teeth, and they were straight and good. Her skin was achingly soft. Her face was fragile and fine, high-boned, exquisite. She seemed like a fragile flower, and yet there was that tremendous strength to her. No one would ever hold her down, he thought with amusement. Then he felt a flash of heat, for he had held her, and that, too, would take time to forget. She might have been created with the hottest sensual pleasure her entire purpose, for though she was overly slim, she was sweetly lush, with wonderful, firm breasts, rose-crested, beautiful. Her back was long and sleek, her legs long and shapely. Her stomach dipped and her hips flared, and she had been mercury to touch. She had left him aching in every conceivable way.
She had wanted Robert, he reminded himself. Women never seemed to realize where true strength lay, for Robert could not provide what she had needed. He hadn’t the purse for it. Nor, for that matter, Jamie decided—with a certain arrogance, he was ready to admit—could his friend have provided what she needed in other ways. She was an innocent maid, but there was something about her that reminded him of his raw, untamed land. There was a promise of something wonderful and tempestuous and passionate about her. It was in her eyes; aye, even in the hatred she felt so wholeheartedly for him.
“She will not want any help from me,” he said softly. He turned to Robert, reaching into his doublet for the pounds sterling he carried there. “Robert, follow her. When you are able, see that she receives these. Insist that her mother be buried in the coffin if she fights you.”
“But, Jamie—”
“Please, Robert, do as I say.”
Robert shrugged and smiled. “My pleasure. Perhaps it will enamor me to the lass. You should take care.”
“We shall probably—neither of us—see her again, so what does it matter? Charm her into taking enough to get by on. Enough to find a new position away from such a one as Master John.”
“Aye.” Robert nodded. “Were that oaf to touch such beauty, it would indeed be a sacrilege.”
“Aye, that it would. Go on now, the funeral party moves onward.”
Robert dismounted his horse and wedged his way forward through the crowd.
She had not brought the black hood back up about her head, and from his position Jamie could see her face. No tears touched her cheeks, and her magnificent eyes were open wide upon the world. Yet she moved like some ice princess of a fantasy, forever frozen, forever made cold. No heart could beat within her breast, no warmth could thaw her. Her hair, a flow of golden silk, lifted and fluttered about her cheeks, and she seemed not to notice it. She walked straight forward, ever forward. She did not smile, and she did not crack. She was as beautiful as ice.
The wagon moved on; the crowd moved on. Jamie followed at a discreet distance, and he wondered vaguely why he took the time, and why he would bother with a maid with a temper like hers. She had tried to rob him and she had been blatantly disappointed—no, horrified!—to discover that he was Jamie, and not Robert.
It was her circumstance, he thought. Pity; had she come straight to him, he gladly would have eased her way and asked naught of her. He could be a hard man and he was aware of it, but those who knew him and those who served him knew that he was always fair and, in times of need, generous. What was his he claimed wholeheartedly, yet what was his he by rights could give, and he would have given the girl the money she needed without a thought.
He shrugged against the cold. What difference could it make?
They walked, against the winter chill, a good distance from the town. The crowd thinned. All who followed the girl now were a wizened little man and the plump, pretty barmaid who had also served them the night before.
Jamie realized that they had come to the common folks’ cemetery.
No great monuments rose to the dead here. He thought of the chapel at Castle Carlyle, of the great monuments sculpted to his ancestors. Here there was earth, and the occasional poor cross, or a death’s-head riding an angel. Mostly there was nothing but the barren winter earth.
A large hole awaited the cart. A mutual grave. Other shrouded corpses had been cast into it already, and more would join it before the day was done.
The priest stepped down from the cart. He waved a pot of incense, and his words rose high. God forgave all mortal sins, and Christ welcomed his own into his fold. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes. Linnet Dupré had found a haven in the arms of the Lord Jesus.
Jamie watched Jassy, watched her standing tall and proud, the wind moving the sheaths of black gauze all about her. The priest’s words fell like clods of earth, burying her mother with finality. And still she did not move, did not whisper, did not speak.
The swift service came to an end. The girl stepped forward to press a small coin into the open palm of the priest, and at last Robert stepped forward. The girl started. Her enormous blue-violet eyes opened wide, and emotion came to her at last: dismay, surprise, and a pale hint of shame.
Jamie felt his lip curl into a g
rim line. He hadn’t known why, but he had asked Robert to return her things with a certain purpose. He hadn’t known that he had such a cold streak of maliciousness, but it had seemed important that she know Robert had been aware of her activity. Perhaps she had wounded his pride. Perhaps it seemed that she believed Robert could give her more. Maybe he was just annoyed that she fawned so over his friend, believing there could be a future for her. Perhaps she dreamed of a fine house, of a title, of precious things. Perhaps he was the one who could draw the fire from her eyes and into the heart of her body.
Perhaps she even believed he was so soft of heart that he would marry her. She had misjudged her man. Robert needed wealth, and he would marry for wealth, no matter how great the beauty of a golden-blond barmaid.
As Jamie watched, Robert paid the priest for the coffin, and the toothless driver of the cart—apparently the owner of the coffin—came around, his ugly face gnarled up with interest.
The girl protested. She murmured something, and Robert turned to her and explained that she must let her mother rest in the coffin for eternity; it was a very small thing for him. The priest, who had been tipped well by now, assured her that it was important for Linnet’s mortal remains to rest well in the wood.
The girl pulled the black gauze from about her and draped it lovingly over the coffin. Robert took her by the shoulders and led her away from it.
The cart was lifted and lowered.
The coffin made a thump as it landed in the ground. Only then did Jamie see the emotion that touched her face, a crippling anguish. It touched her for just a second, and then it was gone, and the ice was back about her, the crystal-cold control.
They came from the cemetery, and she saw him then, sitting high upon Windwalker. He saw her stiffen, and he saw the hatred enter into her eyes. She pulled away from Robert’s hold, but Robert was talking and pretended not to notice.
The girl’s eyes remained locked on Jamie’s.
He dismounted from his horse. As they came closer, Molly and the wizened little man bobbed to him, murmuring, “Milord!” Jassy said nothing. She did not bow, and she offered him no title. She stood like stone against the cold and the wind. Behind them, the cart and the priest rode by, and the grave diggers hurried on with their task.
“Ah, there you are, Jamie!” Robert said. “I was telling her she must not return to Master John’s, but she has said she has no intent to do so, anyway. She has a bit of money on her now, and she plans to travel southward to find her family.”
“Does she?” Jamie said.
“Aye, that she does.”
They were all standing out in the snow-packed road. Windwalker snorted loudly, and the breeze picked up with a vengeance.
“I’ve got to get back, luv,” Molly told Jassy. “He’ll have a strip of my skin if I don’t.”
“Oh, Molly!” Jassy whispered. The two women hugged each other. Jamie was treated to another glimpse of the warmth she was capable of expressing when she chose.
“And I, Jassy,” the wizened little man said. “God go with you, child! Remember, we will always be here, should you need us!”
Jassy hugged him too. Fervently. He and the woman Molly bobbed to Robert and Jamie again, then swiftly departed.
“You were planning to walk to your family? Alone?” Jamie said skeptically.
“Aye,” she snapped back. “And what is it to you, sir?”
“Lord Cameron, Miss Dupré,” he said, correcting her with a slight bow. “Mistress, the question is of some importance to me, for my father’s estates are not far, and he would be gravely distressed to hear of a young serving wench accosted and set upon and perhaps even left for dead.”
“Should I be accosted and left for dead, Lord Cameron, I shall ask my Maker to see that your father does not hear of the event,” she retorted. With a sweet smile she turned to Robert. “Thank you, sir, for all your kindness.”
“Jassy, let us take you to the town ahead at least. We’ve an …” He paused, looking at Jamie with a shrug. “We’ve an extra horse. Ah, mistress! Truly the way is rough and ragged and littered with misfits and vagabonds, and I would be your escort.”
Jassy smiled slightly and nodded, then looked Jamie’s way. “And tell me, kind sir, is Lord Cameron accompanying you?”
“Aye, that he is,” Robert said uncomfortably.
“Then I should prefer the misfits and vagabonds,” Jassy said quietly.
Jamie forgot that she was a young woman, forgot that she had just lost her mother, and his infamous Cameron temper came into play. He clamped his hands down hard upon her shoulders, swirling her about. His face was darker than ever with the depth of his anger, his jaw clenched tight with the strength of it.
“Mistress, I believe you’re forgetting that I might well have set the law upon you. Thievery of your type is punishable by hanging.”
“Jamie!” Robert protested.
Jamie ignored him, staring into the hate-filled eyes of the woman before him. “What, madame, were you planning on stealing—a horse? Or are you so very cunning then, or is it a matter of sheer stupidity?”
“Don’t touch me!”
He swore out something in absolute fury. He released her shoulders but caught her waist. Before she could protest, he set her upon Windwalker’s back. He leapt up behind her, grasping the reins with some difficulty, for she was swearing then, with the penchant of a dockhand. She tried to shift, tried to dislodge herself. Robert stood in the road, laughing.
“Well, there’s one not dying to be a Cameron heir!” Robert chuckled. “Excuse me, Jassy.” He bowed very low to her. “Please, do excuse me if I enjoy myself. You see, in London the ladies throw themselves all over him and he barely notices. It’s nice for a change to see Lord Cameron at a loss!”
“Robert, mount up, will you?”
Jassy twisted against him. Beneath her threadbare cloak she was wearing the same garments she’d worn the night before. She tried silently to dislodge his arms from about her.
“Let me—”
“There is no extra horse, mistress. You may ride this one. Have you left anything behind?”
“I am most eager to leave you behind!” Was he mistaken, or was there a hint of desperation about her? Did the threat of tears hover in her eyes? Did her blood truly run warm, like that of other women?
“Mistress, you are a wretched witch, and in all honesty I do not know why we don’t drop you here in the road!” Why in God’s name was he bothering with her? She had annoyed him yesterday; he had been engrossed with his Royal Charter, his plans and his sketches, and he had sorely lost his temper when she had interrupted him. But then she had attracted his attention, and he wasn’t at all sure why he should give a damn, or even if he truly did.
There’s the lie, he realized. And there’s the rub. He was worse than Robert, for he wanted her with an obsession. He wanted to find that thing about her which he could not see, and could not touch. He wanted the fire beneath the ice.
Her fingernails suddenly curved over his hands where they lay upon the reins, digging in. She spoke, her voice grating from her clenched teeth. “Lord Cameron, you vile heap of rodent compost—”
“Mistress, enough!” he roared. Her nails hurt. He should have been wearing his gloves. He swore, and with that, he set his heels to the bay. Windwalker took flight, sending her reeling hard against him. He heard a slight gasp. She clung desperately to the saddle pommel, and he was glad, for at least she had the instinctive sense to value her own life.
Hoofbeats sounded as Robert followed behind them. The winter wind blew about them, and though it seemed they rode the clouds, they rode hard, and it was cold.
Jassy was glad of it, for she quickly became numb. She had no adequate covering for this wild ride, nor did she know how she had found herself cast upon it. Perhaps it was all a nightmare. Within a day her life had changed so drastically. That morning she had broken all ties with the past. Linnet was gone. There was no reason for her to remain with a brute like Mas
ter John. She was young, she was very strong, she could not only read and write but also could teach geography or Latin and even history. There had to be a better place in life for her.
First, however, there was a matter of vengeance.
She was going to her father’s house. She wanted nothing from anyone. All she wanted to do was to meet the duchess—and to spit upon her and let her know that she had brought about the destruction of Linnet Dupré, and that somehow, somewhere in time, she would pay for her cruelty. When that was done, Jassy could live again. She would find a better life.
She didn’t want to admit that it was thanks to the gold coin that Jamie Cameron had so carelessly thrown her way that she could possibly make the long journey to Somerfield.
Jamie Cameron! she thought with scalding fury. Jassy’s mother was gone, she was lost and bereft, and this dark son of Satan did not seem to care. He had no manners, no chivalry, but still insisted upon being there—ever a memory of her deepest humiliation!
She longed to throw herself from the horse! But she could not, and so she clung tight.
The wind stayed with them. They rode hard, passing frozen fields and ice-covered forests. The cold wrapped her and filled her, and at the least, it kept her from thinking of her loss. Her mind was upon him, for with each great movement of the bay’s legs she was pressed against his chest. She felt his arms about her as he held the reins, and she felt the pressure of his thighs against her. How could he? she wondered bleakly. After the things that had passed between them, how could he imagine that she could bear the sight of him?
Suddenly the landscape changed, or what she could see of it, for her hair continued to lash against her face, stinging her eyes. The trees thinned, and they passed more of the barren fields of winter. There were barns and stables and cottages to the left of the road, and a frozen brook to the right. Within minutes they came upon a village.
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