Читать книгу Moonrise - Ana Seymour - Страница 7

“Please don’t trouble yourself to rise, sir.”

“Why, I’ve already risen, mistress,” Anthony said, masking a rueful grin at the double edge to his words. Without jewelry, without paint, without laces and satin—by the holy rood, the lady was stunning.

“I’ve merely come to inquire about your sleeping quarters. They are to your satisfaction?”

Her voice was low and pleasant and her eyes now had softened. He could almost believe that he had imagined that fierce expression of moments ago. “I wish you could change your uncle’s mind, mistress,” he said, walking toward her. “I’d not have him abandon his own bedchamber for me.”

“He would have it no other way,” Sarah answered, a touch of defiance making its way into her tone. “Uncle Thomas has a very strong sense of propriety. He would never have a visitor of your standing sleep in lesser surroundings.”

Anthony shook his head. “Let me talk with him one more time. I don’t want to cause disruption in the household.”

“My uncle has retired for the evening, Lord Rutledge, and asked me to bid you goodnight.”

Anthony was silent for a minute. He supposed it was a good sign that General Fairfax still held enough respect for the crown that he wanted to treat its servants with all honor. He would so report to Charles. And in the meantime...the lady appeared to be temporarily without a guardian.

“Your uncle retires early,” he said evenly.

“Yes. He works hard and is not so young anymore.”

“But he’s in good health, surely?”

Sarah could not help the touch of bitterness that crept into her voice. “Years of battle and betrayal wear on a man, my lord.”

One of Anthony’s dark eyebrows lifted. “I know,” he said pointedly. “There are many who say the king appears much older than his five and thirty years.”

Sarah bit her lip. What was the matter with her? she asked herself for the hundredth time that day. She hadn’t come here to discuss politics with the baron or open up past wounds. She’d come to try to disarm any suspicions he may have developed during the day about Brigand and the masked highwayman. At least that was the reason she had given to herself when she found her feet directing her inexplicably toward the great room instead of to her own bed. At any rate, she certainly did not want to antagonize their guest.

She made her voice light. “I wouldn’t know about that, Lord Rutledge. I’ve never seen the king.”

Anthony cast a quick glance down the length of her black-clad silhouette and his eyes glowed. “That’s perhaps a lucky thing, mistress.”

Sarah blinked at the unexpected statement. “May I ask why, sir?”

Anthony moved so close that she could see the fine stitching on his black doublet. He spoke softly, bending toward her. “Because the king has a weakness for beautiful women.”

It was as if one of the flames from the fireplace had suddenly leapt up and scorched her face. She had never before been called beautiful. Her father had believed that vanity was a sin. While Sarah had always been secretly pleased that her features were comely, she had never remarked upon the fact, nor expected anyone else in the family to do so.

She stammered a reply. “I...I can’t imagine that his majesty would be interested in a simple country maid such as I.”

Anthony reached out a hand and gently ran a finger down her cheek. “You may be from the country, but I’m not at all convinced about the ‘simple,’” he said with a curious intensity, then lightened his tone to add, “and I’m afraid that ‘maid’ would definitely be no longer the case once Charles set his sights on you.”

Sarah dropped her gaze from the now teasing dark eyes and took a step backward, away from the touch of his hand. This was beyond her. She had grown up in a society where men and women touched not at all before their marriage, and as seldom as possible thereafter. In her household there would no more have been banter about a maid losing her virtue than there would have been blasphemy against the Lord. “I fear I’m not used to your court humor, Lord Rutledge,” she murmured.

Anthony frowned. He hadn’t meant to scare the lass. Perhaps she was virtuous, after all, in spite of the scene he had witnessed outside the stables. The fact would not change his intent, merely his tactics. “Please forgive my free speaking, Mistress Fairfax. You are correct. The ribaldry of the court has gotten out of hand these days, and sometimes I forget what it’s like to talk with a true lady.”

Sarah struggled to regain her composure. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, swallowing over the dryness of her throat. “Now if you will excuse me...”

Anthony grabbed her hand. “Don’t go, Mistress Fairfax. I’d have you sit with me awhile by the fire. I promise not to offend you again.”

His voice coaxed without pleading. Once again Sarah lifted her eyes to look at him. His hair fell in careless black waves past his shoulders, unlike the cropped Puritan style of the country lads she was used to. But instead of making him look feminine, it merely added to his aura of overwhelming masculinity. Raised with men all her life, she had never been so aware of the difference between the two sexes. Part of her wanted to flee to the shelter of her little room in the west wing of the manor. The other part of her kept her riveted to the floor. “I’ll stay awhile,” she said finally. “Though I would imagine you, too, are weary after your journey today.”

With the expertise of a skilled lover of women, Anthony watched the expressions flit across her face. He saw hesitation, then interest, then curiosity. There was not quite desire as yet, but that would come. He had plenty of time.

“I’m never too weary to enjoy the company of a fair lady.” Without relinquishing his hold on her hand, he led her across the room to the leather chairs in front of the fire.

“I’m unused to such compliments, my lord,” Sarah demurred, pulling her hand away and sitting in the chair farthest from the one the baron had been occupying.

“Now, I find that hard to believe.” He pulled his chair close to hers and leaned so that he was closer still. “I’ve heard no reports that an epidemic has struck blind all the good men of Yorkshire.”

His smile was warm and teasing and Sarah found it impossible not to respond with one of her own. “They are not blind, sir, but neither do they have time to waste on flattery.”

“Ah, but ’tis not flattery to merely speak the truth.” He paused a moment then added nonchalantly, “Surely the young suitor who called on you today must tell you these things.”

“Suitor?”

“A tall blond fellow. I saw you together as I came out of the stables with your uncle.”

Sarah’s mind worked quickly. As she had expected, Jack’s absence at the midday and evening meals had not been noted. Their visitor appeared to be unaware of the existence of her brother, and she intended to keep it that way if at all possible. “Oh, him,” she said casually. “Uh...Henry. He’s just a friend. His family has an estate in a neighboring village.”

Anthony was surprised. Though he would not have suspected Mistress Fairfax of having a devious character, he knew at once that she was lying to him. He considered the fact briefly. Was she just trying to conceal the depth of her feelings for the man? Or was there some darker reason for her duplicity? He could not, after all, forget why he had been sent to Leasworth in the first place. The lady’s clear deception put an entirely different tone to the evening.

“Perhaps I should make his acquaintance. His family might have horses of interest to me.”

Sarah gave a forced laugh. “I hardly think so. They are not wealthy people. I’m sure they would be quite undone at a visit from a member of court.”

She was definitely hiding something, Anthony concluded, surprised to find himself somewhat saddened at the knowledge. He had planned on seducing Mistress Fairfax and then sharing with her his considerable skill—to their mutual satisfaction. He’d even thought he would fall in love with her for a few days. He’d found in the past that being infatuated enhanced the physical sensations, and it had been some time since he’d been in the mood. However, it appeared that far from falling in love with General Fairfax’s lovely niece, he would be investigating her. The seduction was still not out of the question, but it would have to be done with his guard up. He would not be able to indulge in that delicious abandonment of intellect that he had at times found so rewarding.

“I’ll defer to your judgment, then,” he said with a smile. “Though my instructions were to view all the stock in the surrounding area.”

“Oh, take my word for it, sir. The...uh...Partridges’ animals are of extremely poor quality.”

“Partridge?”

“Yes. Henry Partridge,” Sarah said firmly. “That’s the friend you saw visiting me today.”

“I see.”

Sarah searched his face for any sign of suspicion, but he just watched her with a pleasant smile. “I should really seek my bed, Lord Rutledge. We are not accustomed to keeping late hours here at Leasworth.”

This time Anthony made no move to dissuade her. He stood and gave a courtly nod of his head. “Then don’t let me keep you, mistress, for I intend to request your services on the morrow.”

“My services?” Sarah asked uncertainly, rising to stand beside him.

“As a guide,” Anthony explained smoothly. “Your uncle has spoken so glowingly of your riding talents, I would like to see them for myself, and at the same time can use your knowledge of the neighborhood to help me in my mission.”

The entire conversation had left Sarah uncomfortable. At first she had been nervous about the baron’s disturbing effect on her personally, and now she began again to fear his presence as a representative of the king. She should never had made up that story about Jack, she told herself angrily. This man was too sharp to treat as a fool. She must tread carefully.

“As I said before, Uncle Thomas views my skill with the eyes of a doting relative. However, I would be happy to serve as your guide tomorrow.”

“Fine. Shall we say midmorning?”

Sarah nodded her assent, then turned to leave the room. Anthony watched the graceful line of her back as she walked toward the door. “Mistress Fairfax,” he called softly as her hand reached for the latch.

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder.

“If Master Partridge does not tell you how beautiful you are—tell you emphatically and often—then he doesn’t deserve you.”

Sarah again felt the heat from the fire all the way across the room. “Good night, your lordship,” she said quickly, and slipped out into the dark hall.

* * *

“I don’t think I fancy ‘Partridge.’ You could have come up with a grander-sounding name.” Jack lay sprawled across the foot of Sarah’s bed. He grinned at her over the top of the apple he was devouring. It was the fourth he’d consumed in the few minutes she had taken to tell of the previous evening’s conversation with the baron. Sarah tried not to think about what nocturnal activities might have caused her brother’s inordinate appetite this morning, but she couldn’t help a motherly scold.

“What time did you get home last night, anyway, little brother?”

The grin broadened. “You told me to stay away, remember?”

“It’s not a joke, Jack. Somehow I sense that this man is dangerous.” She pushed herself farther up in bed and hugged a pillow protectively against her middle. If nothing else, Anthony Rutledge was definitely a danger to her peace of mind. It had been hours before she had slept last night, and it hadn’t helped that she had heard no sounds of Jack’s return to his room next to hers. When she had finally slept, she’d had one of her disturbing dreams. They always started out the same...on that horrible day four years ago, the day of her father’s execution. She and Jack had been in the front of the crowd that day—lost, pitiful figures who were about to witness the end of the secure world they had known. But in her dreams she was no longer helpless. She was up on the platform with her father, fighting with his captors, dressed in solid black with a black silk mask covering her face. One by one she fought off the king’s men until finally there was only one left...and he stood over her father with a huge sword, more fearsome than any she had ever seen. From there the dreams would change. Sometimes her father changed into an eagle and flew away free into a bright blue sky. Sometimes that horrible sword would descend and then all she would see was red, great bright blotches that filled her vision and her head.

Last night the dreams had changed. Suddenly she’d been watching Jack in the meadow beyond Wiggleston. He’d been entwined hotly with Norah Thatcher, and then the figure changed again and it was not Jack anymore, but the baron. Even this morning she had vague memories... The baron’s dark hair falling forward as he bent his head toward milk white breasts. And they had not been Norah’s breasts...

“Sarah!” Jack’s voice was insistent. “What’s the matter with you? You’re pale as a ghost.”

She gave herself a little shake and swung her legs over to jump down from the bed. “Nothing’s the matter. I just didn’t sleep very well last night with a king’s man in the house and my brother out prowling the village like an overheated tomcat.”

Jack winced at the sharpness of her tone. “Who can understand you, Sarah? You’re the one who told me to stay away, and now you’re angry because I did as you asked.”

She sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, little brother. It’s just that the man makes me uncomfortable. All that nonsense about my supposed beauty...”

Jack’s smile was tender. “But, Sarah, you can’t fault the man for having eyes in his head. You are beautiful.”

Sarah pulled her voluminous night robes close around her and looked over at her brother. There was definitely a difference about him, a new awareness of her as a woman and himself as a man. He would never have said such a thing even a few weeks ago. It made her uncomfortable, but she found the change intriguing. “Thank you,” she said softly.

Jack dropped his eyes. “I guess Father and I were never much good at telling you so.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Sarah shook her head with embarrassment.

“Yes,” Jack said firmly. “It does matter. I have the most beautiful sister in all the country and I’ve never even told her so. I ought to be horsewhipped...or at least forced to listen to one of Parson Hollander’s sermons.”

Sarah giggled. As usual, Jack could defuse the most awkward moment with his good humor. She was tired and more than a little confused by the feelings of the past day and night, but overriding everything else, she felt a tremendous surge of love for her brother. Without him, her life would be barren indeed.

She walked around the end of the bed and leaned over to drop a kiss on his blond head. “Anyway, you do see that it’s more important than ever that you keep out of sight. You’ll have to stay in the village until the baron is gone. And I want you to talk to Parson Hollander and tell him to spread the word among the villagers. If he asks them to keep your presence secret, I know they’ll cooperate.”

“What about the servants here?”

“I’m going to speak with Uncle Thomas.”

“Get Bess to help you.” Bess was the head cook, absolute ruler of the Leasworth kitchens, and the only woman besides Sarah that Jack had ever listened to.

“She’ll do anything we ask if it’s to help you,” Sarah said with a smile. “So, it’s settled. Now be off with you.”

“And you promise not to be angry with me for spending the night away?”

“You could stay at Parson Hollander’s.”

Jack’s grimace made him look like a little boy again, and forced Sarah to laugh. “Oh, all right,” she said. “Stay wherever you please, just don’t come back around here until I send word that it’s safe.”

“But what about you? I don’t like the idea of you being with that man unprotected.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said airily. “I’ll be fine. Now get along out of here before the baron shows up for our riding appointment.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course. Absolutely sure. I’m not the least bit worried about being able to handle Lord Anthony Rutledge.” She turned away biting her lip. As far as she could remember, it was the first time she’d ever told her brother a lie.

* * *

“Which of these beauties do you ride, Mistress Fairfax?”

Beneath her smile, Sarah was fuming. She had hoped to reach the stables before Lord Rutledge this morning to tell the stableboy, Arthur, that she would not be riding Brigand today. But the baron had knocked at her bedchamber door before she had even finished dressing, barely missing Jack’s departure.

As she had feared, the words were scarcely out of the baron’s mouth before the vigilant young Arthur stepped forward leading her beloved stallion. “This un’s Mistress Sarah’s horse,” he said proudly.

Sarah’s smile wavered as Anthony gave a low whistle and said, “He’s magnificent. I had marked him yesterday, and hoped to be able to ride him myself today.”

“He doesn’t take kindly to strangers,” Sarah said stiffly.

“Has he learned that from his mistress?” Anthony asked with mild amusement.

Determined not to let the man disconcert her again, Sarah ignored the remark. “I’ve ridden him since he was a colt. He’s used to me.”

Anthony reached out to run a practiced hand along the horse’s side. “What’s his name?”

Sarah gave a swift glance at Arthur, who was listening raptly to their exchange. Reluctantly, she answered the question. “I call him Brigand.”

Anthony’s hand stopped for a moment, then continued down the horse’s smooth flank. “A bloodthirsty name for a horse belonging to so lovely a mistress.”

When Sarah made no reply, he asked, “Would you consider selling him?”

“Never!” Sarah responded more vehemently than she had intended.

Anthony straightened from his examination of the stallion and turned to her with a half smile that took Sarah back to her dreams of the night before. “Not even to the king?” he asked softly.

“I’m sorry,” she said, regaining her innate dignity, “Brigand is not for sale.”

“I suspected as much. Still, it’s a pity. Perhaps I will be able to persuade you to change your mind during the course of my stay here.”

“You would be wasting your time to try, Lord Rutledge.”

“It would be an interesting challenge, then.”

His intense gaze was focused on her, not the horse, and suddenly Sarah felt herself unsure as to the topic of the conversation. Once again the baron was standing too close to her. It muddled her thinking. Wedged between the wall and her horse, she was unable to move away.

“Mistress Sarah won’t never sell Brigand.” Arthur’s eager young voice startled them both. At many estates, Sarah knew, a servant would be beaten for speaking without being addressed first by the master, but her uncle and father had always encouraged fair treatment and respect for all who worked on their properties. Their idea of Christian brotherhood was not mere abstract theology.

Anthony turned his easy smile on the boy. “I believe you, lad. Though it’s been said that I can be very persuasive when I want to be.” His dark eyes shifted back to Sarah.

“If we’re to get some riding in before the midday meal, we’d best get started. If you like, you may try out my uncle’s prize stallion, Chestnut. I think you’ll find him a worthy mount,” she said hurriedly. She wanted the morning to be over with.

Arthur, now fully under Anthony’s spell, rushed to ready Thomas Fairfax’s best horse for the baron’s use. It was a handsome sable stallion, as high as Brigand, but without quite the breadth of flank that gave Sarah’s horse its extraordinary strength.

They left Arthur staring after them in awe, and Sarah had to admit that they must make a striking sight as they made their way along the well-worn road to the village. Brigand and Chestnut were two of the finest horses in the area, and today both had riders worthy of such impressive mounts. They rode several minutes in silence, enjoying the rare December sunshine.

“If I’d known Yorkshire to have such a mild clime, I’d have visited before,” Anthony said finally.

“We’re fortunate today. Perhaps the sun is shining in your honor, my lord.”

Anthony lifted a dark eyebrow. It was the nearest the lady had come to coquetry since that obviously staged moment when they had first met back at the stables. Most of her conversation was disarmingly direct. He found her completely unlike the ladies he was used to back at court. Yet he remembered his impression that she had been lying about something the previous evening. The truth was, Mistress Fairfax had him perplexed and intrigued. It was an uncomfortable feeling for a man who prided himself on his skill in judging women.

It was on the tip of his tongue to answer with one of his courtly comments—to profess that the sun’s rays were no brighter than the dazzling brightness of her countenance, or some such nonsense. But he stopped himself and said simply, “If anyone should be honored, mistress, ’tis you.”

The unadorned compliment brought color to her cheeks. She answered him with a smile, and Anthony felt his heart skip a beat. “Shall we run a bit, mistress?” he asked brusquely.

“Of course. We can head through the meadow, if you like. The terrain is smooth and flat.”

Anthony nodded agreement and followed her as she let her beautiful stallion stretch out into an easy gallop. Her uncle had been right. Even with the constraints of her riding skirts and a sidesaddle, she rode superbly, moving in perfect harmony with the animal. He let his horse fall back a ways just to enjoy the view, then spurred ahead, not willing to let her get too far from him. When he pulled up to her, she urged her horse to more speed, forcing him to catch up once again. All at once it became a contest, one in which Sarah seemed to have total control.

Finally she let him match her speed and stay with her. They raced side by side for several minutes, then Sarah pointed to a low rise in the grass and began to slow her pace. “There’s a stream beyond. We’ll just let them take a bit of water,” she called, laughing and disheveled.

Her hair had pulled loose from its tight coils and fell to her shoulders in honeyed waves. Her gray eyes twinkled, and she looked so fresh and young that Anthony again felt the curious twist inside his chest. “We’ll have to arrange a race sometime,” she said with a little laugh.

“You’d best me, I fear. You ride like the wind, Mistress Sarah.”

“‘Tis the horse. No one can beat him.”

Anthony nodded. “I’m beginning to believe it.”

They had come to the edge of the stream. He jumped from his saddle, intending to help Sarah dismount, but she was on the ground before he could approach her. Anthony shook his head and observed, “The horse is twice your height, mistress, yet you jump from his back as easily as a cat.”

He moved toward her, trailing his horse’s reins behind him. “You’ve the eyes of a cat, too, sometimes,” he said. “Gray. I’ve never seen their color before.”

With his black eyes intensely focused on her again, Sarah felt the same agitation of the previous evening. In the space of a day, this fancy London courtier had made more observations about her person than she had heard in her entire life. Of course, at Charles’s court such talk was probably the fashion. But for a girl raised pure and Puritan in the countryside, it was hard to answer.

Part of the time she thought that her discomfiture served her well. Her uncharacteristic loss for words must make her look a fool in the baron’s eyes, and that was probably for the best. However, part of the time, she admitted to herself, she felt an overwhelming desire to impress the man.

Her father had shared his love of learning and books equally with her and Jack. She was educated far beyond what was considered desirable for a woman, and not just in the Puritan teachings of William Prynne and the like. With her father’s encouragement, she’d read Shakespeare and Donne, even Hobbes. And she’d come to hold her own in conversations with many of her father’s friends, who had been among the most learned of the land. She had a ready tongue and quick wit, and, for the life of her, she could not understand why both seemed to forsake her so utterly when in the presence of Lord Rutledge.

“I’ve been jumping off and on horses all my life,” she answered, for lack of any other response. But Anthony preferred to stay with the topic of her eyes.

“A cat’s eyes. But they turn storm-cloud gray when you’re angry.”

“I don’t believe you’ve seen me angry, my lord.”

“Not angry, then, but...incensed. As when you stood up for your uncle last night. I sensed that there was more behind your words. ‘Years of battle and betrayal,’ I believe you said. And there was anger, deep down.” He moved even closer and lifted a finger to point at her face. “And storm clouds there...in those lovely gray eyes.”

“The Civil War was hard on everyone,” Sarah answered carefully. “It’s not something I like to think about.”

“But when a king’s man arrives at your home, you have no other choice, is that it?”

She shook her head slowly. He was very near again, but this time she had no urge to step back. In fact, she felt almost compelled to draw even nearer. “Perhaps I was ready to dislike you, Lord Rutledge, for being a king’s man. But I find that you are not as I would have expected.”

Anthony’s hand had lowered to settle along her arm. Gently he pulled her an imperceptible space toward him. “And how do you find me, mistress?”

Sarah’s heart hammered in her throat and ears, making it hard for her to speak. “Not...disagreeable,” she rasped.

A glint lit the darkness of Anthony’s eyes. “Agreeable, then?”

She nodded.

“I find you very agreeable, Mistress Sarah,” he said in a voice that had grown husky. He bent toward her, his other hand at her elbow, closing the distance between them. Sarah swayed, her knees suddenly weak.

“Mistress Fairfax!” a shrill female voice called from the road.

Sarah stiffened and Anthony’s hands tightened on her arms. They turned in unison toward the sound of the cry. An attractive young woman was approaching them on a lumbering horse with no saddle. She was barefoot and her cotton skirts were hiked up around her thighs.

“It’s one of the village women,” Sarah said, a lump of disquiet lodging painfully in her throat. She had recognized at once the shapely form of Jack’s new friend, Norah Thatcher.

“What does she want with you?” Anthony asked, irritated by the interruption.

Sarah shook her head. Norah slipped from the broad back of the horse and ran toward them, breathing heavily. She stopped in some awe when she got close enough to take a good look at the baron, but recovered quickly and turned to Sarah. “Your...er...Master Partridge sent me to fetch ye, mistress.”

Sarah felt a stab of fear in her middle. “What’s wrong, Norah?” she asked, her voice rising with apprehension.

“Ye’s to come to the village right quickly, mistress.” She stopped and took a deep gulp of a breath. “It seems that the sheriff has arrested Parson Hollander.”