She had often slept with Verity, and knew the comfort of a warm body
close in the night. She imagined what it would be like to have Cyn’s
body beside her, brushing against hers, his particular aroma all around
her. She tried to block such thoughts. They did no good, and certainly
didn’t promote sleep…
Cyn’s sixth sense had told him she was still awake and made him
cautious in his preparations for bed. Now, he listened for any sound
that would confirm it. He half hoped for, half dreaded, an invitation
of some kind. Still keyed up despite the long walk he’d taken, he knew
that the slightest encouragement would be enough to overcome all his
scruples…
Chastity felt the atmosphere of the room press heavily upon her. She
was aware of his breathing, his presence so close. She had to stop this
before she did something foolish. She imagined herself back in Nana’s
cottage, helping with the housework, feeding the hens, reading one of
the books with which she passed the time. She had discovered accounts
of travelers and delighted in them, finding escape in going with them
to distant lands…
Cyn accepted that there would be no coy gesture, and on the whole
was glad of it. He didn’t know what would come of this situation, but
he wanted more from his damsel than a burst of lust.
Doubtless she was sleeping after all, and so should he. He put his
mind to it. During years of campaigning, which often provided
unsatisfactory sleeping quarters, he’d developed the ability to bring
on sleep regardless.
The room settled into somnolent tranquility.
Chastity woke to the gray light of an early morning, and the distant
clatter of the inn. For a moment she wondered where she was and why she
was sleeping in her clothes. Then it all came back.
Verity, Winchester, Cyn…
She opened her eyes a crack and looked up at the bed, but from the
low pallet she could not see the occupant. She gingerly slid from under
her blankets, anxious to be done with her toilet before he awoke. She
eased to her stockinged feet…
… To see Cyn sitting by the window, feet up on the sill, watching
her. “I was about to wake you, lad,” he said easily. “I’ve ordered
breakfast. We must be on our way.”
“Right,” said Chastity, and scuttled behind the screen. Did a woman pissing sound different? She hoped not.
She put on her second layer of clothes, her wig, and her hat, and
emerged fortified. He looked her over as if he would make a comment,
but before he could speak, the innkeeper and a maid bustled in with a
hearty breakfast. He shrugged and gestured her to the table.
Adventure must sharpen the appetite. Chastity found she could do a
hungry youth’s justice to the ham, eggs, kidneys, and fried bread.
“We should reach Maidenhead today, shouldn’t we?” she asked as they both mopped up the last of the food on their plates.
“If all goes well and the weather holds. Let’s be on our way.”
Within the half hour they were trotting out of Winchester. The hired
horses were hardly prime bits of blood, but they were sound enough, and
seemed built for endurance. This was as well, for they would have to
carry their riders more than thirty miles this day.
The air was sodden and Chastity gave thanks for her double layers of
clothing and heavy riding cloak. The sun lurked behind sullen clouds,
making no attempt to brighten leafless trees and skeleton hedges that
stood stark against dark plowed earth. She hoped the gloomy day was no
predictor of their luck.
Cyn, however, was bright-eyed. Did nothing ever cast the man into
the blue-devils? “Cheer up,” he said. “The day’ll be better yet. We’ll
find Frazer and put an end to Verity’s problems. Then we can look to
yours.”
Chastity jerked on the reins so that the horse jibbed. “What?”
“Have a care. His mouth’s doubtless like iron, but that’s no reason
to rasp it. I can hardly send you back to your cottage-prison without
making a push to help. I’m a devoted knight-errant, don’t you remember?”
“I’m hardly a damsel in distress.”
He looked at her almost seriously. “Still, I’d like to help. What crime caused you to be sent into exile?”
“Disobedience,” said Chastity bleakly.
“You have a deuced strict father.”
“True enough.”
“And how long is your punishment to last?”
Chastity could not bear this. The temptation to pour out her woes to
him was too great. She looked at him coolly. “My petty problems are
none of your concern, my lord. Let us but settle Verity and I will
return to Nana’s, and you’ll be free of us both.”
He accepted it, but she didn’t much like the intent look he flashed her before speeding the pace.
A good canter drove the chill from her bones, but did little for the
chill in her heart. They were racing toward the end of their
association.
She resolutely put past and future out of mind, and set to enjoying
these brief hours of Cyn. Laughter bubbled at the sound of that, and
she let it out. He grinned at her and she grinned back. The day rapidly
improved.
Again he showed his gift for geography. They frequently left the
busy road for country bridle paths, heading always northeast toward
London, but cutting across the main routes, for Maidenhead lay to the
west of the city.
He didn’t push the pace, but Chastity gave thanks for the many hours
of riding astride she’d put in during her exile, for otherwise she’d
never have been able to keep up. As it was, when they halted at midday
to feed themselves and the horses, she could swagger into the inn with
just the right air.
They ate in the common room, sharing a table with a carter, an
elderly medical man, and a pasty-faced clerk. Chastity wondered why Cyn
risked eating in public when they could have hired a private room, but
she enjoyed the experience. She’d never eaten in such company before.
She soon discovered why Cyn had chosen a public room. Gossip.
“Lot of military men about,” said the rotund carter, eyeing Cyn’s uniform. “French trouble, is it?”
“Not as far as I know,” said Cyn. “There’s some concern that the
current war might encourage the French and Jacobites to try again, but
hardly here on the south coast. Ireland more like.”
“Troublemakers,” said the carter, and spat, though whether he
referred to Jacobites or Irish wasn’t clear. “Still and all, I’ve been
looked over by patrols all along the London road. Sommat’s up.”
“I can tell you what,” said the pinch-faced doctor, dabbing at his
lips with his napkin. “A poor lady is wandering witless. Widow of a
gentleman, and that man’s heir along with her.”
The carter frowned as he masticated a huge mouthful of beef. “A hell
of a lot of redcoats for one mort. I’ve never seen so many, not even
during the ‘45.”
“You exaggerate,” said the doctor. “We could scarce move without
being questioned at that black time. Not that I objected. If I had my
way, every Stuart sympathizer in the land would be done to death. It
offends me deeply to know that there are still those going free who
would have flocked to the banner of Charles Edward Stuart. But now we
even have a Scot as the king’s right-hand man!”
The clerk interjected at this point to state that his mother was
Scots, and that not all Scots were traitors. Soon heated politics
became spice for the meal, with the doctor continuing his tirade
against Jacobites and Lord Bute.
When the doctor left, the carter spat again. “That man’s the sort
who’d hand his granny to the hangman and call himself a good man.
Especially if there was a farthing in it.”
“But it is our duty to oppose treason,” remarked Cyn.
The carter eyed his uniform uneasily, but said his piece. “Aye, but
opposing treason always brings out those with an ax to grind, and those
who like to see others brought low. Many a fortune changes hands in
hard times.”
“That’s true enough,” said the clerk sourly. “And some of the
gainers no doubt as treasonous as the losers if the truth were told.
Take the Campbells, for example.” He too rose to his feet and dusted
himself off. “You should keep your eye out for the missing lady,
though, Captain. I intend to. There’s a handsome reward offered, and
that wouldn’t be blood money, for she’ll be the better for being found.”
“Aye, that’s true enough,” said the carter. “But with the hunt so
thick up near London, she’d need to be a fairy-woman to be north of
here. ‘Tis a pity to say, but she’ll likely be fished out of a river
one day soon, baby and all.” He rolled out to assemble his eight-horse
rig and continue his long, slow journey into Somerset.
Cyn and Chastity too went to order their mounts. As they waited for
their horses, Cyn said, “Did I detect some sympathy in you for the
Jacobites? Is your heart touched by Bonnie Prince Charlie and his
gallant highlanders? If so, we are on opposite sides.”
“No, I’m no Jacobite. But from what I hear the highlanders were
brave and true to what they believed. The reprisals were too harsh. So
many families ruined, and whenever I drive under Temple Bar and see the
heads still rotting there…” She shuddered. “As our friend the carter
said, there are doubtless many traitors who’ve avoided detection—the
sneaky ones who waited to see which way the wind would blow, while the
brave men paid the price.”
Cyn mounted. “You’re too rosy-eyed, lad. A good many Jacobites just
hoped to be on the winning side. The sorry truth is that most men are
out to gain from what they do.”
As she checked the girth and swung into her saddle, Chastity said, “Even knights-errant?”
Cyn gave her a hooded look. “Even them.”
As they cut north over the Exeter road the sky clouded over again in
a way that threatened a downpour. Dusk came early in November, but it
looked as if it would be earlier still today.
“Doesn’t look good,” said Cyn with a glance at the sky. He urged his mount faster and Chastity followed suit.
Not long after, his horse cast a shoe.
Cyn let loose a string of vivid, multilingual oaths. “I’ll have to
lead him to the next village,” he said, “and hope there’s a smithy.
There’s a spire over there that looks promising. Come on.”
A drizzly rain began to fall, and they both pulled up the hoods of their cloaks.
“I doubt we’ll make Maidenhead tonight,” he said with irritation.
“With a storm threatening, we’d be better not to try.” Then he
shrugged. “In fact, it’s no great loss. If we stop for the night in
some out-of-the-way village, we’ll be less noticeable than if we turn
up late and bedraggled in Maidenhead, where doubtless the net is
tightest.”
He looked up, as if wondering at her silence.
“Yes, you’re right,” said Chastity. Another night on the road. Oh, Lord.
By the time they came into the village of East Green, Chastity’s
head was throbbing with tension. They stopped at the Angel, a plain
square building on the main street, with a small coaching yard beside
it. The door opened to spill warm light and pleasant chatter into the
yard. The hearty innkeeper assured them there were rooms to be had, and
a smithy just down the road. His ostler would take the horse down and
have it seen to.
There was no obvious watcher here, but the first thing Chastity saw
inside the Angel was a notice nailed to a post—missing, reward. And
below it a creditable line drawing of Verity. It had been done from the
portrait painted just after her marriage. It was a good likeness, but
very much of a great lady, with high-piled hair, low-cut bodice, and
diamonds around her neck. Chastity suspected that Verity in her present
guise, even as the proper matron rather than the sluttish servant,
could stand by the poster and not be recognized.
Cyn caught Chastity’s eye and winked. She winked back, relieved to know the search was so handicapped.
And the innkeeper had said
rooms
. She wouldn’t be tempted to foolishness.
It was going to be all right.
They were discussing the rooms and dinner with mine host when a voice boomed. “Cyn Malloren! It
is
you! By the Lord Harry, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I thought you’d snuffed it!”
They turned to see another officer emerging from the taproom. He had
a jolly look to him, with round cheeks and big blue eyes, but he was
also well over six feet and built like a stone monument. When he
grabbed Cyn, Chastity half expected the smaller man to break.
“Gresham!” declared Cyn with every evidence of delight, despite the embrace. “What are you doing in the back of beyond?”
“Ah ha!” declared Gresham. “This is your lucky day, boyo. No need of
rooms,” he said to the innkeeper. “Captain Malloren’ll be up to Rood
House with me.”
“Rood House?” queried Cyn. “Your place?”
“No, Heather’s.” He wrapped an arm around Cyn’s shoulders and
steered him toward the taproom, throwing back over his shoulder, “More
of that punch, landlord, and quick about it!”
Chastity rolled her eyes and followed. Was Cyn Malloren known and
loved the length of England? The two officers sat at a table by the
fire, draining the last of a bowl of hot punch. Chastity sat on a bench
close by. Apart from one quick glance to check her location, Cyn
appeared to ignore her as he and his friend caught up on the news.
A handful of local residents sat in the tap, addressing the Angel’s
home-brewed. They eyed the young officers with mild, good-humored
interest, then resumed their gossip and dominoes. The click of the
tiles soothed Chastity’s nerves.
The landlord bustled in with a new brimming, steaming bowl. Chastity
regarded it with some alarm. Had this giant already drained one of
those? If she was any judge, it contained mostly rum and brandy. In no
time at all they’d both be under the table.
Gresham showed no sign of wear as he filled two glasses with the
stuff. Nor was he unobservant. “He yours?” he queried with a nod at
Chastity. “He want some?”