Читать книгу A Traitor's Touch - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 9
ОглавлениеChapter Two
Henrietta’s eyes flashed defiance as she held Simon’s stare. There was a self-assurance about him which was unmarred by arrogance. It inspired her confidence and she relented.
‘You have my word that I shall not speak of what I overheard. I have my own reasons for remaining silent.’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘That is all that I shall say on the matter.’
‘Thank you. When your friends turned up I was about to go on my way, but I was afraid of what you would do to me if you heard me.’
‘So if you aren’t a spy, what are you doing here?’ Simon demanded.
She gave him a scowl that suggested he mind his own business, but then thought better of it. With four angry men glaring at her, she was in no position to argue. ‘I’m going to my uncle. I—I’ve moved out of the house of the people I was living with.’
‘Do they know where you are?’ Simon watched the youngster thoughtfully.
‘They’d turn over in their graves if they did,’ she answered quietly.
‘I see,’ Simon said, beginning to understand her plight. ‘And your uncle? Where does he live?’
‘In Scotland.’
‘That’s one hell of a journey for a lad to undertake alone.’
‘I have no choice. There—are reasons why I have to leave London.’
‘You make it sound like a matter of life or death.’
‘It is.’
She shivered and sent a furtive glance over her shoulder, as though expecting something terrible to materialise out of the darkness, her gaze scanning the impenetrable blackness among the trees, cocking her head, as if listening for something, some far-off noise.
Simon was sorely tempted to dismiss her remark as wild exaggeration, but by rights he could not do so unless he had a chance to delve into the matter. His gaze softened at the lad’s plight and he instantly suffered a pang of compassion. He couldn’t be any older than fifteen and he didn’t think he had known much kindness. He reminded him for all the world of some little prey animal, his preternatural senses alerted to the imperceptible sound of some fierce predator’s approach. His curiosity for this unfortunate youth was beginning to grow.
‘Do you have a name?’
Henrietta squirmed uneasily and glanced around her.
‘You do have a name, don’t you?’ Simon enquired with a hint of sarcasm.
A brief, reluctant nod gave him an affirmative answer. ‘Henry,’ she prevaricated evenly. ‘My name is Henry.’ There—her first lie. It wasn’t so bad.
Fixing her eyes on the man’s face, she studied him as much as she was able in the moonlight. She had heard him say he was to go to Scotland. Hope surged up in her. He was on a mission—a dangerous one, too, if what she had heard was to be believed—and could not be too particular in the matter of formalities. For her, this meant safety, luck beyond hope which she could not afford to lose. If he were willing to take her with him, she was prepared to offer any service she was capable of giving—within reason, that was—in exchange for a helping hand.
Henrietta became set on a course of action and, in spite of a very reasonable fear of rejection, she continued. She was on a tightrope with an obligation to move forward, not backwards. Having come this far, she had to speak the words she had rehearsed in her head.
‘Since you are to go to Scotland, will you take me with you?’ She had no qualms about making the request. She was desperate. Overwhelmed by a sense of her own audacity, she braced herself for rejection.
Simon stared into her hope-filled eyes, thought of his vital secret mission, and let out a sigh. ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘But why?’
‘Because it’s a mad idea.’
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Yes, it is. I might be about to let you go, but I have no intention of playing nursemaid to a quick-tempered lad.’
Undeterred, Henrietta took a step towards him, her chin jutting belligerently. ‘I’m past the stage of being in need of a nursemaid. I can take care of myself. You’re going to Scotland anyway—I heard you say so. At least if you take me with you, you’ll know your secret is safe.’
His eyes narrowed on her expectant face. ‘That sounds like blackmail to me.’
Henrietta allowed herself a smile. ‘Not really, but I suppose it must look like that from your position.’ Her smile faded. ‘I do know that the content of your discussion can be classed as a treasonous act for which all of you could be hanged if caught. But I don’t care who you are and what you are about is your business. All I know is that I stand a better chance of reaching Scotland unmolested if I do not travel alone.’
Jack stepped forward, not at all happy about the lad’s suggestion. ‘Don’t be swayed, Simon. Think about it. Time is a luxury you can’t afford. The lad will hold you back.’
‘You’re right.’ He looked at the youth, his expression uncompromisingly hard. ‘As I said, it’s out of the question. I’ve important matters to take care of and I’ve no desire to saddle myself with a troublesome lad. Now away with you. Think yourself lucky we’re letting you go with your life.’
* * *
Henrietta went on her way across the heath, heading towards Highgate, feeling angry and mortified as well as bitterly disappointed. Everything that had happened to her seemed so improbable. She had, to be sure, a little money, but so very little it would not enable her to subsist for more than two weeks. She had her jewels, but they were not worth very much. Of sentimental value since the pearl necklace had been her mother’s and the rest given to her over time by Aunt Dorothy, she would be most reluctant to part with them.
* * *
It was way past dawn when she reached Hatfield, thankfully without mishap. Saddle-sore and starving hungry, there was a weariness in her eyes as she dismounted and pushed her woollen cloak back over one shoulder. Leading her horse, with her mind on finding something to eat, she walked along the street, glancing into alehouses as she went. Never having entered such establishments, she was reluctant to do so now.
Was it only yesterday that Jeremy had turned up at the house? It seemed an eternity since she had left. It had needed only a few hours to make her first an outraged young woman because of the injustice meted out to her by Jeremy and now a fugitive who would soon be hunted down by that same man when he discovered the truth about his uncle’s will. She prayed he wouldn’t think of looking for her north of the border. But when she thought of Jeremy, who had treated her so cruelly, no remorse troubled her mind.
With an effort of will, she drove out these gloomy thoughts. She was young and strong and determined with all the force that was within her to overcome the malign fate which dogged her and to do that, it was necessary to remain in possession of her wits for the long trek to Scotland. Tethering her horse to a post, she glanced about her warily, feeling terribly conspicuous in her masculine garb.
There was a bustle in the street as the town was coming to life. An assortment of rustic-looking folk went about their business. A loud curse made her jump swiftly aside and she waited as a couple of huge, plodding horses, their foam-flecked sides heaving, drew a large wagon piled high with casks. Intent on staying out of their path she heedlessly stepped backwards into a loitering group of youths. Their presence was first noted when a voice called loudly, ‘Young fool! Look where you’re going.’
Spinning round in alarm, she stared at the youths, the eldest of whom was about sixteen. He stepped in front of her, his feet spread, his thumbs hooked in his belt and a tattered hat askew on an untidy thatch of brown hair. He towered over her, looking her over suspiciously.
‘Can’t say I know you. What you doing here?’ he demanded boldly.
‘I—I’m just passing through,’ she nervously stammered, lowering her voice to fit in with her masculine attire. Uncertain and dismayed at this unexpected confrontation, she glanced uneasily towards the others who were circling around her. For the most part, they seemed only to be seeking some diversion from boredom. She could not be too careful and sought to make them more cautious.
‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone—my uncle,’ she lied in an attempt to make them back away. ‘He—he should be here...’ Her voice trailed off and she looked around expectantly.
One of the youths laughed loudly and gave Henrietta’s shoulder a shove. ‘Hope he’ll come to your rescue, do you?’
Hands seeming to come from every direction reached out to shove and push. The next instant her hat was snatched from her head, baring a mop of shaggily cropped hair. Henrietta threw her hands over her head, at the same time opening her mouth to vent her outrage. For some reason she thought better of it and clamped her jaw shut, angrily making a grab for her hat, only to see it passed from one to the other. Incensed, she stood there with her fists clenched, refusing to show her fear. ‘Give me back my hat and I’ll be on my way.’
Immediately one of the youths shoved her shoulder and she found herself stumbling backwards, but not before she’d made another grab for her hat as it went sailing through the air. Jamming it on to her head, she glowered at them, ready to do battle if they attempted to take it again. Her jaw slackened as she stared amazed by the sight of the three youths suddenly backing off and pressing themselves against the wall.
A tall figure in a swirling black cloak strode into their midst. Large and powerful, a cocked hat set jauntily sideways on his head, she recognised him as the man Simon she had met on the heath the previous night. Henrietta was more unsettled than she was prepared to show by his sudden appearance. Now, in broad daylight, he bore a striking resemblance to the pirates whose exploits she had relished when safely between the covers of a book. This man had no black patch over his eye or gold rings in his ears, but these details apart, he seemed the living image of a gentleman of fortune.
‘On your way, the lot of you,’ he barked, brushing them aside as best he could. ‘I’m sure there must be chores to occupy you other than abusing others.’
He watched the scrambling departure of the youths before turning to the individual who found herself meeting eyes of deep blue set in a hard and unsmiling face.
‘I thought it was you,’ Simon remarked sharply. ‘You appear to be in a spot of bother.’
Henrietta’s heart lurched in her breast. She was torn between resentment because he’d refused to let her go with him to Scotland and relief that he’d rescued her from possible harm at the hands of the three youths.
Observing the lad’s expression of concern, Simon said, ‘You need to watch lads like that. They clamour around and then they’ll suddenly disappear—along with your purse. I don’t doubt that half of them will end up dangling on the end of a hangman’s rope one day. I was about to get myself a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?’
Having recovered her composure, Henrietta raised cool, bright eyes holding more than a measure of distrust to his. She hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning her on the heath. Having witnessed her humiliation at the hands of those louts, he was infuriatingly sublime in his amusement. If her situation weren’t so dire, she’d cheerfully tell him to go to the devil.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ she replied sullenly. ‘My mother told me never to talk to strangers.’
‘Your mother was right, but you were happy to talk to me last night when you thought I could be of use.’
‘That was last night. Things look different in daylight. I don’t want any handouts.’
‘I wasn’t offering to pay for your breakfast. I merely thought you might like some company, but it seems I was mistaken. The least you could do is thank me for getting you out of a scrape.’
‘I didn’t ask you to,’ she retorted ungraciously. ‘I can take care of myself.’
‘Is that so?’ His eyes did a quick sweep of the small, slight form in ill-fitting garb before him, noting the pathetically shorn hair of an indeterminate colour and badly stained breeches. There was an air and manner about him that held his attention. ‘By the looks of you someone needs to take you in hand.’ His jaw set squarely, he turned away. The lad was proving to be a headache. And yet...those snapping green eyes...the soft mouth and curve to the cheek...
Simon! an inner voice commanded. Enough! It will be your downfall if you pursue this train of thought.
It was indeed enough—but even so he found himself turning back. He glanced at her horse. ‘Get your horse and come with me if you want some breakfast—before those young ruffians come back and finish what they started.’
Turning on his heel and leading his horse, he headed for the back of the nearest inn. Racked with indecision, Henrietta glared at his retreating broad back, the hollow ache in her middle reminding her how hungry she was. Seeing her three abusers loitering on the street corner still eyeing her with malicious intent, though it chafed her to do so she grabbed her horse’s bridle and hurried after him.
Leaving her mount to be fed and watered in the tavern’s stable, she was almost treading on his heels when he crossed the threshold into the large and welcoming common room. It was adorned with gleaming copper and brass with a number of tables disposed around the room. A good fire burned in the hearth and a number of serving girls tripped about bearing loaded trays.
There was a stir of interest among them when their eyes lighted on Simon’s handsome form and their eyes boldly appraised him. His expression softened as his gaze swept over one of them—a pretty young girl, her loosely laced bodice barely containing her ripe breasts—and he inclined his head in the briefest of bows. The way he regarded them told Henrietta that this was a man who enjoyed female company. From the flirtatious fluttering of the women’s eyelashes, it was obvious they had fallen prey to his charm.
‘What it is to be so popular,’ Henrietta commented without bothering to conceal her sarcasm as she followed him across the room.
‘Being reasonably handsome—or so I’ve been told—has its advantages, Henry.’ There was something about the amused tilt of his eyebrows, the way the serving girls melted a pathway before him and the sudden mischievous twinkle in his eyes that made her laugh.
‘And I have no doubt many of the ladies surround you like moths around a candle.’
The liquid blue of his eyes deepened. ‘Many moths, but no butterflies—and I have to say that I am not partial to moths.’
The landlady of the inn paused in her work to watch the two cross the room where they settled at a table in the shadow of the wide chimneypiece, where they ordered breakfast and cold beer.
‘You’ve ridden quite a distance,’ Simon said, removing his hat and cloak and dropping them on the seat beside him.
Reluctantly Henrietta did the same before sitting back and availing herself of the chance to take account of her companion. His vigour seemed to fill the room with such robust masculine virility that it took her breath, because she had grown accustomed to a life with her guardian, a diminutive older man. Her gaze leisurely observed his lean yet muscular thighs and she allowed it to wander upwards over his breeches to his narrow waist and powerful shoulders, her eyes settling on his dark features. He had nothing wanting in looks or bearing. He wore a blue jacket and black breeches above his riding boots and his tumble of raven-black glossy curls was secured at the nape.
Settling back in his seat, his long, lean body was stretched out at the table pushed slightly forward to accommodate his long legs. But there was nothing ungraceful about him. The muscles of his arms and legs were sinewy and strong, and finely honed. He regarded her with some amusement, smiling, his teeth very white against the tanned flesh of his face, but there was a disturbing glint in his blue eyes.
She noticed that he was studying her with intent and she was aware of the tension and nervousness in herself. Of course anyone else might have seen past her disguise and laid bare her secret, but with this man, she could only surmise that he was contemplating the disgusting state of her shaggy hair—the soot she had rubbed in to darken it having run and stained her face—and dirty breeches. She avoided his eye and vowed to remember her false identity at all costs. So far there had been no hostility in his voice when he addressed her and she must take care not to raise his suspicions. As a man of the world, he would be familiar with the subtle differences in bone structure between men and women, and he might have noticed that she was abnormal. If he did, fortunately he did not press the matter.
Simon idly watched the serving wenches go about their business, his eyes lighting on a particularly buxom redhead giving him the eye. His mind turned over possibilities and began sketching scenarios in which he would take her somewhere private where their coming together would end in some climatic terminal.
Thoughts of climaxes brought vivid, full-colour visions of Theresa to mind, the last woman he had made love to in the twilight of her father’s French garden—her heavy breasts perfectly round, her face beneath his washed by his kisses, eyes closing tight in pleasure, then opening again to look with delight into his, her mouth stretched wide in a permanent gasp of pleasure. The daughter of a French nobleman, she had meant nothing to him and had receded into the past like so many before her. Still, she had been a beauty all right and he would probably never see her again.
He did not normally permit himself the indulgence of sentiment. There was in his nature a very cold streak and he cultivated it because it protected him. And now, with a rising and rebellion imminent, it was imperative that he did not relax his vigilance. But he was restless, cursing the imagination which sent him thoughts the like of which he had not suffered since he had left Theresa. But he often thought the imaginings were so much better than the disappointing real thing.
His relationships with the fair sex often left him puzzled—where was the blinding ecstasy that came with the mystical fusion of two bodies into one? He was a good lover, he had been told. He found sex interesting, as well as physically pleasant. He rarely had to seduce a woman—for some women he was a highly desirable man—and the thrill of conquest was not what he wanted. He was also an expert at giving and receiving sexual gratification. But over time he had formed the view that ecstasy came not from a man’s pleasure in a woman, but from their pleasure in each other, which was something that seemed to elude him.
Shifting his gaze from the serving wench, he studied his young companion more closely. With short hair and small heart-shaped face accentuating the large green eyes and slim, fragile features and high delicate cheekbones, the youth looked much younger than he had originally thought.
‘We shall have refreshments and discuss what I see lurking in the depths of those eyes of yours.’
Simon waited for Henry to make the opening gambit. But it seemed his expectations would come to naught for Henry volunteered nothing of himself. ‘Since we are to eat together, we might as well get better acquainted,’ he said in an attempt to draw the lad out of himself. ‘My name’s Simon Tremain. I already know you are called Henry. Your family name eludes me?’
Henrietta met his gaze and immediately the shutters came down over her eyes and her expression became guarded. She had the uneasy thought that her companion was like a tall, predatory hawk and that she was a small, disadvantaged animal about to be pounced on. ‘That’s because I didn’t tell you,’ she retorted, not wishing to become too familiar with an active Jacobite whose sympathies were akin to those of her father.
He, too, had been a Jacobite agent, and his scheming and conspiracies against King George had led him to the gallows, leaving his wife and Henrietta to carry the burden of that crime of treason. Nothing would ever lessen the deep bitterness she felt towards the Jacobites. It was a bitterness that burned inside her with an all-consuming intensity. Henrietta didn’t like talking about herself, especially not with strangers. Andrew Brody was a name remembered and still talked about by many.
Simon’s curiosity increased. He arched a brow and peered at his companion, shrugging casually. ‘Just curious.’
‘You ask too many questions.’
‘It’s a habit of mine. You do have one, don’t you?’
When Henry made no further comment Simon did not pursue it. But with this in mind he looked again at the lad and felt drawn to him. He sat erect, his small chin in his heart-shaped face raised, and Simon could see him putting up a valiant fight for control—a fight he won. Despite his ragged garb he looked incongruously like a proud young prince, his eyes sparkling like twin jewels. Simon’s granite features softened and his eyes warmed, as if he understood how humiliated the lad felt on being brought low by a situation that had obviously driven him from his home.
‘I ask your pardon, Henry. It was not my intention to intrude on your privacy. Being a private person myself, I respect it in others, so you can relax. You were serious when you said you were going to Scotland? To your uncle, I believe you said.’
Henrietta nodded.
‘Where in Scotland does he live?’
‘Some miles from Inverness. It’s—quite inhospitable, I believe.’
‘I believe it is.’
They fell silent when the landlady arrived at their table, skilfully balancing a huge tray on one hand. She placed the steaming plates of eggs and ham and wedges of warm bread and butter and freshly made succulent fruit tarts before them, telling them to enjoy their meal. Unable to override the demands of hunger before the landlady had retreated from their table, Henrietta began munching on the bread, savouring the delicious taste. Simon watched her in amusement until the object of his scrutiny became aware of his attention. Suddenly abashed, she slowed down. Simon laughed, then turned his interest to his own breakfast.
Henrietta hadn’t eaten since dinner time the previous day and ate heartily at first, but once her hunger was satisfied, she ate slowly while her companion consumed his portions more leisurely, savouring each taste fully. She felt much better after the meal and, with warmth and nourishment having restored some measure of elasticity to muscles chilled and stiffened by hours on horseback, a gentle drowsiness crept over her and slowly her eyelids began to droop.
When Simon had finished his meal, he wiped his mouth on a napkin and once more fixed his attention on the youth. His head had fallen forward and his eyes were closed. Clearly the long ride was beginning to take its toll. He frowned. The more they were together, the more curious he became about his young companion. He’d already decided that he was a young person of no ordinary cleverness and intelligence. He noted that he ate much too daintily for a street urchin and there was a refined quality to his speech and in his manner that did not tie in with his outward appearance. His breeches and shirt were of poor quality, the breeches having seen much service, and his hair and face were clearly in need of soap and water. Yet his boots and cloak were of good quality and he had also noted that his horse was no ordinary nag, but a valuable blood horse, clearly out of the stables of a gentleman.
‘What—or whom—are you running away from?’ he asked suddenly.
All at once Henrietta’s eyes snapped open and she sat up with a start, wide awake on the instant. ‘Who said I was running away?’
‘You did—on the heath?’
After a moment and lowering her eyes, Henrietta nodded. ‘I am obliged to go to Scotland.’
‘And it’s a matter of life or death, if I remember correctly.’ She nodded. ‘Like to tell me about it?’ he said, ignoring what he had said about intruding on her privacy.
She shook her head. ‘I’d rather not talk about it.’ If he were to find out her true identity she wouldn’t be able to deal with the repercussions, and after her unpleasant encounter with those youths, she realised she had a better chance of reaching Scotland with this man to protect her—if he could be persuaded to take her with him.
‘And your parents?’
‘A hint of tears brightened the light green eyes as she spoke. ‘Both my parents are dead.’
Simon felt a pang of pity for the lad. ‘I’m sorry.’
The sympathy in his voice made her study him. He had a warmth of manner which made her feel as if she had known him a long time, and she decided she liked him. ‘Don’t be. It was a long time ago.’
‘But you still miss them.’ She nodded. ‘Well, you’d best eat up if we’re to reach Scotland.’
Henrietta’s eyes shot to his. ‘Are you saying that you’ll let me travel with you?’
Simon’s mouth softened into a lazy smile. He amused him, this youth. Simon smiled at the confidence he displayed in front of him. It flowed out of him. As he met the green eyes he saw the eagerness there. ‘I’m thinking about it. But if you lag behind I won’t think twice about abandoning you. Is that clear?’
At once, Henrietta felt her spirits revive. Now that he’d agreed to let her travel with him, hope and courage returned and she was able to fight with all her strength against the insidious counsels of despair. The prospect of being alone with him made her shudder, but, she reasoned, the protection of such a man while ever she was on the road would be invaluable. She refused to think this man might do her harm.
‘Thank you. I am grateful,’ she said, remembering her manners, unable to conceal her excitement. ‘I will not dawdle. I cannot afford to. I can ride as well as the next—man. I could even act as your squire—or whatever term you care to use—and do it well. I will not be a burden. But if you think you’ve got something to fear from a defenceless youth, well, sir, you’d just better not hire me. And how do you know I’m not a thief who will rob you blind when I get the chance?’
Simon laughed aloud at the youth’s audacity. ‘Call it intuition. I like your spirit. I trust you, Henry.’ He’d already come to the conclusion that the lad was as blunt and honest a youth as he’d met in a long time—and twice as unkempt. He was also beginning to think Henry could be completely exasperating, yet there was something about him that was likeable, too.
‘I expect you’ll be suggesting wages next.’
Her eyes brightened. ‘We could discuss it. How much will you pay me?’
‘Nothing. Meals all found along the way. Take it or leave it.’
‘I’ll take it—and I’ll pay for my own bed. I like my privacy and have a penchant for sleeping in my own room.’
Simon’s lips quirked. ‘I don’t snore, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’
‘Never crossed my mind. As I said, I prefer my own room.’
‘That’s settled, then,’ Simon said, half-amused. ‘But you’d better be worth it. I can only hope you know what you’re in for. It’s only fair to warn you that it’s going to be a long haul to Scotland and many things could happen that you may not like. However,’ he said on a more serious note, ‘I find I must place one stricture on the pact.’
Henrietta glanced at him obliquely. ‘And that is?’
‘That until we reach Scotland you will speak to no one of what you overheard on the heath.’
‘I thought I’d already given you my word on that.’
He nodded. ‘I just wanted to make sure.’
Henrietta nodded, drawn to him by his sheer physical presence. For a moment she felt her resistance waver, but then she rebuked herself, bringing her mind to a grinding halt. For her peace of mind she must not let him get beneath her guard. She was grateful to him for agreeing to let her travel with him, but how long could she hope to hide her identity behind the guise of a grubby youth?
‘And while we’re at it,’ he went on, ‘have you not thought of cleaning yourself up?’
Henrietta’s jaw clenched with indignation. ‘Show me the way to Scotland and I’ll be grateful. But keep me out of your plans. Untidiness and a little dirt never hurt anyone.’
The buxom redhead who had caught Simon’s eye earlier came to clear the table, a provocative smile on her lips when her eyes settled on him. ‘Will there be anything else, sir? More ale?’
‘No, thank you. The food was good,’ Simon replied, giving her a wink and returning her smile. Getting up from the table, he chuckled softly as the girl picked up the plates and went on her way, her hips swaying seductively from side to side. He glanced at his companion. ‘Tell me, Henry, have you known the love of a maid? Is that what takes you to Scotland?’
Henrietta’s eyes opened wide with indignation at the very suggestion. ‘No, of course not.’
‘No, you are still young. Whatever takes you there is not for the love of a maid.’
‘How do you know?’ she asked him, making no further attempt at denial.
‘One’s only to look at your eyes, lad. Not a spark of love in them. Take my advice and keep it that way. Women are every man’s downfall and there are too many that are any good for the peace of honest lads like you and me. When I looked into your eyes just now, I saw just one thing. Fear! That’s why I’ve decided to take you to Scotland. I’ve no truck with love. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that it’s a waste of time. But fear! There’s some sense in that. Now come. I’m at your service. I believe,’ he said thoughtfully, ‘that you and I shall deal favourably together.’
Donning his cloak and ramming his hat down on his head, he set off out of the inn with long, purposeful strides, leaving Henrietta to ponder on his words. After a moment she followed him, still wondering why this man who for all the world resembled a pirate and was capable of instilling fear into even the stoutest heart, should fill her with such instinctive trust.
* * *
Hoisting herself into the saddle with an agility that both astounded and impressed Simon, Henrietta gritted her teeth and steeled herself for the ride ahead, refusing to betray her trepidation, for she could only imagine the great distance they would have to travel before they reached their destination.
Henrietta’s stout-hearted mare matched Simon’s big black gelding stride for stride as they headed north. The road was wide and busy with travellers going north and south, some on foot and some on horseback, and the guards on the back of stagecoaches frequently blew their horns merrily as they went by.
But as the day drew on the journey began to take its toll of Henrietta. She tried not to let her companion see it, but she was exhausted with fatigue and her inner thighs were so sore that she felt as if she would never ride again. She could hardly remember the girl who would ride almost daily in the park, cantering on her horse. That girl was a lifetime away from her now.
* * *
As it grew dark they were approaching a large village which likely meant a good inn, a decent supper and a soft bed. Dismounting carefully, she ruefully rubbed her bruised posterior and wished she could groan her misery out loud and sink her tortured body into a hot tub. Averse to revealing any hint of her waning strength, she managed to drag her stiff and aching limbs forward with a modicum of dignity, which, as Simon observed her discomfort, brought a mocking grin to his lips.
‘Sore, are you, lad? Too soft, that’s your trouble. But worry not.’ He chuckled infuriatingly, dismounting and handing the reins to a waiting stable boy. ‘You’ll harden before you reach the Borders,’ he said, offering his wisdom freely.
‘Or expire in the process,’ Henrietta mumbled, having no difficulty imagining how pathetic she must look to him.
‘If you would allow me to offer my assistance, I have some salve in my bags I could massage—’
‘No, I couldn’t possibly!’ Aware of the colour flooding her cheeks, Henrietta shook her head.
‘What’s the matter, Henry? Afraid to pull your breeches down in case I confiscate them?’ Simon leisurely raised a questioning eyebrow.
Irritably Henry gave him a narrow look. ‘No. I’m capable of doctoring myself if need be, that’s all.’
Simon shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Suit yourself, though I guess when a lad is as soft as you are, he might just as well take to wearing dresses.’
‘Will you stop fussing about my looks?’ she retorted crossly. ‘I made the first day without complaint, didn’t I?’
Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Simon smiled sardonically. He was becoming used to Henry’s contrariness, but in view of the lad’s youth, he translated it more as bravado. ‘You did, Henry. The challenge will come in the morning when your muscles have stiffened up.’ He glanced sideways at her, a devilish gleam in his eyes. ‘We’ll see how you fare then. Come tomorrow night you might be begging me for that salve.’
Henrietta wouldn’t ask him for his precious salve no matter how desperate she became. Refusing to let him bait her, she bit back an indignant reply. Looking up at him, she saw his face in the deep dusk and the soft yellow glow of the buttons on his jacket as they reflected the light from the window of the inn. It sometimes surprised her just how handsome he was. Self-consciously she tugged down the brim of her hat and followed him inside. The contrast between them was excruciatingly painful when she allowed herself to forget that he was a man on a mission and she a young woman.
The inn was, in fact, commodious. Simon procured them two rooms, but before Henrietta had finished her meal, the effects of the warm fire and wholesome food began to take its toll. Her head nodded with weariness and her eyelids drooped. She had not realised until then the depth of her fatigue.
Relaxed into the corner of the settle across from her, his long booted legs stretched out to the hearth, Simon was not unaware of her exhaustion. Beneath the grime of the road her face was flushed to a soft pink glow and her eyes two sleepy orbs of emerald-green.
‘It’s been a long day,’ he said softly. ‘You look done in.’
‘Yes, it has. Tomorrow will be no different.’
‘Nor the day after that.’
Simon watched her comb her hair back from her face. Suddenly the lad looked so young, vulnerable and completely innocent, despite his air of bravado.
Henrietta looked up to see him staring at her, and when their eyes met, he looked away quickly. From that moment on she grew even more aware of his nearness to her. She sneaked a glance at him from under her lashes and saw that his face was flushed. It was the fire, she thought, because he was sitting so close, or perhaps a result of the ale he’d downed so quickly.
‘Go to bed and get some rest while you can,’ Simon said sharply. ‘I’ll give you a knock in the morning.’
Henrietta nodded. Bone-weary, having shied away from Simon’s practical suggestion that they share one room, she went to bed and was soon drifting into the realms of sleep.
* * *
The sun was not yet up when she was cruelly wakened by the sound of someone banging on the door. Shaking the sleep out of her eyes and struggling into her clothes and boots, she opened the door to find her companion standing there.
‘It’s late,’ he told her, his manner brisk. He was impatient to be on his way. ‘Come and get some breakfast and then we’ll get going.’
Mutely Henrietta followed him, aching in every limb from the effects of the long ride the day before. Snatching a quick breakfast, they continued their journey.
* * *
The sky was overcast, but it was not raining, and towards noon the sun beat down on them. Henrietta pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and mopped her face and neck, wiping away the dust. She shifted her weight in the saddle to ease her discomfort. The day was just like the one before, and the one before that. Apart from the occasional stop to eat and quench their thirst Simon gave her no respite. Not that she complained, for she was determined to show him she could stand the pace.
Though it gave her some assurance that he had not yet guessed her secret, she wondered if all he saw was the dirt on her face and ill-fitting clothes, for it was there his criticism thrived. He could not know, of course, the effort she took to smudge her face and hair every morning when he threatened to dunk her in the river and scrub her clean himself. As uncomfortable as she was in her disguise as a boy, she was unable to discard it.
* * *
The further north they got the quieter the roads. It was midafternoon and they had paused beside a stream to eat some bread and cheese they had bought at the last village they had passed through. Henrietta had removed her boots and was dangling her feet in the cold water as she ate, scooping water into her hands to drink every now and then.
When they were back in the saddle Simon broached a subject she would have preferred avoiding. Instead of setting off at a gallop he was silent and thoughtful as he kept his horse’s prancing pace attuned to Henrietta’s steadier gait. Then, thoughtfully, he turned and looked at her.
In the course of their journey, despite his assertion that he would respect his privacy, Simon had done his best to discover why the youth was hell-bent on going to Scotland, but with a skill beyond his years Henry had managed to avoid giving more than vague, generalised answers, remaining reserved in his friendliness towards him, leaving him no wiser than he had been at the beginning of their journey. In truth, he was concerned about what would happen to him when they reached Edinburgh and they had to part company. Without his protection he would be prey to all manner of dangers that beset lone travellers.
‘When we reach Edinburgh and we go our separate ways, I can arrange for an escort to accompany you to Inverness.’
‘Thank you for your concern, Simon, but I beg you not to worry. I am grateful that you have allowed me to travel with you, but I am fairly self-sufficient and able to take care of myself the rest of the way. You owe me nothing and I will take nothing from you.’
‘You never did tell me why you were running away.’
‘I have no wish to involve you in something that is not your concern. You have problems of your own to worry about.’ She was as determined to remain silent as he was to drag it out of her. She had her pride and her reasons, which she would not discuss with him.
Simon sighed heavily. ‘You are a stubborn lad, Henry.’
‘The same could be said about you,’ she said, directing the conversation from herself. ‘All this time we have been together, not once have you let your guard down.’
‘Not intentionally I assure you. My mind is somewhat occupied with what might be going on over the border.’ He looked across at his companion. ‘Unlike you, Henry, I have nothing to hide. What would you like to know?’
She shrugged. ‘In truth, I haven’t thought about it.’
‘Well, I will begin by telling you that I was educated at a school in France which attracts children of Catholic families in England and Scotland. After that I trained in military arts and saw service abroad.’
‘Do you have a wife?’
Almost immediately his gaze shifted once more to the slight figure riding beside him. ‘I do not.’
‘So you are a bachelor and a soldier. That is a lot more than I knew a moment ago. And now?’
‘Now I follow the dictates of my religion and my conscience.’
‘Which is a dangerous thing to do.’
‘In this present climate it is so. But I am always slow to voice my opinion. In this time of persecution against Catholics in England, since the king and his ministers have not the slightest intention of toleration for the old faith, it is prudent to be diligent, which is why we Tremains have kept our titles and our land. Few families can boast as much.’
She looked at him sharply. ‘You have a title?’
Her surprised amused him. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘What is it? How should I address you?’
‘I am Lord Simon James Talbot Tremain—but I give you leave to continue calling me Simon.’
‘So, you are a lord and you have inherited a fortune, yet you are unattached—uncommonly selfish of you.’
‘How is that?’
‘Having witnessed the way women fall at your feet when you enter a room—’
‘That will be tavern wenches,’ he interrupted with an amused tilt to his mouth.
Henrietta shrugged. ‘What’s the difference? Women are the same the world over and, though it pains me to say so for I have no wish to feed your ego, you are a handsome man. I imagine not a woman in the kingdom will spare the other gentlemen a glance until you have been claimed.’
He cocked an amused brow. ‘Why, Henry, what’s this? Flattery?’
‘No. I was merely stating a fact. But going back to what we were talking about, if the conversation I overheard between you and your fellow Jacobites on the heath is true and Charles Stuart is indeed in Scotland, it can mean only one thing—that some disorder is brewing—that some extraordinary event is anticipated. Is there to be a rising?’
Simon didn’t answer straight away—when he did, he spoke thoughtfully, picking his words. ‘Nothing is that simple, nothing is obvious. I am assailed with a multitude of questions but I will find no firm answers until I reach Scotland and Charles Stuart.’
‘Do you think it will be concentrated in Scotland, if there is a rising?’
‘I cannot answer that, but it has to be on a great scale for it to be of effect.’
‘Will the Catholics win, do you think?’
Simon’s mood had darkened and his expression was grim. Although he looked calm and in control, his mind was in a continual turmoil of conflicts. ‘That depends on the support Charles Stuart can raise on both sides of the border.’
‘What’s he like? Have you met him?’
He nodded. ‘He’s young, with considerable charm and dignity.’
‘And is that enough to bring him to Scotland to lead an army of restoration?’
‘As to that, we shall have to wait and see. I was in Paris myself recently and, by and large, the prospect for a Stuart restoration did not seem to be preoccupying the aristocracy of France. One thing is certain. Whatever the outcome, it will bring about change for the Catholics. If it fails, the damage will do the cause no good and will be so great that both here and abroad they will be condemned. Anyone connected with the rising will be arrested. It would be a hard thing indeed to escape the full consequences if we were to be charged with rebellion and treason. Men have lost their heads for less. The Protestants did not scruple to send men to the gallows merely for saying that James Stuart had claim to the throne.’
Henrietta was scarcely able to grasp the reality of it all as Simon’s words fell like hammer blows against her heart. Remembering the tragedy that had deprived her of her father, as she stared at Simon’s hard profile a chill seemed to penetrate to her very soul. ‘Then may the Lord save you all,’ she whispered.
The prayer was heartfelt and Simon looked at her closely, seeing pain and panic in the eyes of this unusually assured youth.
‘Are you in favour of rebellion, Simon?’
‘In a word, no. But I am of the faith and must support it. Catholic fanatics have been conspiring for years to claim the throne for the Stuarts. They have a long tradition of subversive activity.’
Henrietta’s lips twisted in a wry smile. ‘That I do know,’ she uttered quietly, thinking of her father’s lifelong dedication to the cause.
Puzzled by her words, Simon glanced across at her. ‘What do you mean by that?’
She smiled awkwardly. ‘Nothing. I was merely thinking aloud.’ She looked ahead. ‘See, the clouds are gathering. I’m sure there’ll be rain before nightfall.’
‘I believe you’re right,’ he agreed. ‘If my words have frightened you, I apologise. It was not my intention to upset you.’
Simon’s voice was surprisingly gentle and the unfamiliar sound caused an embarrassed flush to sweep Henrietta’s cheeks in a crimson flood. His head was turned towards her and for a moment she fancied there was a strange expression in his face she had not seen before. ‘You have not upset me, and do not forget that my sole purpose for going to Scotland is to visit my uncle. But now you have spoken of what might be afoot, I can perceive the danger and act upon it should the time arise.’
‘The picture may not be so bleak. I may be wrong.’
‘And I am afraid that you may be right,’ Henrietta whispered, nudging her horse to a gallop as the first drops of rain began to fall and a gust of wind swept the land.
