Читать книгу His Runaway Maiden - June Francis, June Francis - Страница 9

Now Rosamund had the security of the pillion seat, she no longer needed to cling to Master Nilsson for safety and would be able to keep her distance from him.

Alex was also thinking that the pillion seat was money well spent. No longer would he be disturbed by thoughts of the wench’s soft body brushing his back and those small hands holding on to him so she would not fall. Which meant he could concentrate on considering why her stepbrother had no trouble with pirates. This caused him to consider with which countries he traded. It was possible that he had no interest in his stepfather’s markets and instead did business with southern Europe and Africa, so his ships did not risk crossing the northern seas.

Having come to that conclusion, Alex let his mind drift to thoughts of the blonde and beautiful Ingrid Wrangel and the message she had brought him from Harry the morning after Sir James had asked about Harry, saying that the young man reminded him of someone he had known in the past. If Alex had not been distracted just then, he would have asked Sir James for more information. As it was, Alex had not seen him or Harry again that evening. Then had come the message and he had hastened to Cheapside, where the Royal Company of Mercers had their headquarters, in response to its summons. Apparently Harry had information concerning a stolen cargo belonging to Alex. There he was attacked in a cowardly fashion so that he did not even catch sight of his attacker. The only proof he had that his erstwhile friend had been there was a silver amulet of Thor’s hammer reworked into the shape of a cross that he had bent down to pick up.

Fortunately a member of the Royal Company of Mercers had found the unconscious Alex with the amulet still clenched in his hand. He’d had him carried to the monastic hospital that was part of the building. There the monks had nursed him back to health until he was well enough to return to Sweden, having received a missive informing him that his grandmother was dying.

His thoughts were interrupted by a question from his companion. ‘Do you visit London often, Master Nilsson?’

‘Whenever it is necessary,’ he replied, wondering what was behind her question.

‘Have you ever met the Lord Mayor?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I am interested in your answer.’

‘No, I have not.’

‘A pity. I would have liked to have known your opinion on what kind of man makes a good Lord Mayor of London. Perhaps you have heard of Richard Whittington, who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and filled the position several times?’

‘I can’t say that I have.’ Despite his denial, Alex was alert to any information to do with the Royal Company of Mercers. ‘What is your interest?’

‘It is my stepbrother’s ambition to be Lord Mayor of London and he is a member of that exalted company. From what I have heard, it takes a plentiful supply of funds to become Lord Mayor,’ said Rosamund.

‘What are you suggesting?’

‘I am not suggesting anything,’ she answered in a colourless voice.

Alex guessed that she was doing exactly that, but showing caution. She wanted him to ponder on her words and come to a conclusion that might match her own. ‘What is your stepbrother’s name?’

‘I would rather not say at this moment. If you have met Sir James, then perhaps you can work that out for yourself, too.’

‘I suspect, Master Wood, you are playing games with me.’

‘I would not dare, Master Nilsson,’ she said, sounding horrified that he should consider such a thought. ‘But there is always the possibility,’ she could not resist adding mischievously.

‘Do not push my patience too far, Master Wood,’ warned Alex.

‘I hear you and obey. I will not plague you any more,’ said Rosamund meekly. ‘I feel a megrim coming on so I will be silent.’

Alex was not sure if he believed in her megrim, but he hoped that she would keep her word and leave him to his thoughts that now concerned a stepbrother whose stepfather was Sir James Appleby and who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and was in need of lots of money to fund his ambitions. He was not bothered by pirates, unlike his stepfather, and Master Wood suspected Sir James had been murdered. Was she saying that the prime suspect for his murder was her stepbrother? It seemed extremely likely. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to discover the identity of Sir James’s stepson once he reached London. But did any of this have aught to do with Harry and Sir James’s words about a likeness to someone he had known in the past?

As the day wore on, the pain in Rosamund’s head increased and her whole body ached. She worried in case Master Nilsson thought she was quite mad, playing games with him instead of giving him straight answers. She did not really believe that he was in the pay of her stepbrother, but how was she to know for certain?

The miles fell behind them until, just before dusk, they stopped at an inn a short distance south of Stafford. By then Rosamund’s head was thumping and she had stomach cramps. As she dismounted, her knees buckled and she would have fallen if Alex had not been there to lift her upright. For a moment she rested her weary body against the strong line of his and was glad of his arm about her. Then with a start of fright, she realised she was behaving like a woman and drew away from him.

By means of clinging on to the horse’s bridle, she managed to remain on her feet, but her gait was unsteady and she felt sick. Yet she insisted on leading the horse to the stable.

Once again Alex watched her with admiration. They had spent hours on horseback and there had been no word of complaint from her. He was not surprised she was exhausted. He wasted no time going inside the inn. It was a finer one than that in which they had stayed last night and he was able to obtain a private bedchamber with a proper bed. He asked for a fire to be lit and supper prepared for them. Then, carrying a lantern, he headed for the stables where he found Rosamund resting against a stall with her eyes closed. He took one look at her face, which appeared to have lost all colour and was damp with perspiration, and told her to get to the inn and rest.

‘But I have not…’ she began.

‘Never mind that. Tell the innkeeper to show you up to our bedchamber.’ His tone was harsh.

‘You’re angry with me because you believe I am playing games with you. Perhaps you believe I am mad,’ cried Rosamund in dismay.

‘Not now,’ said Alex sharply.

She made to continue, but he roared, ‘Get yourself inside and to bed before you collapse!’

Rosamund shrank away from him and stumbled outside and threw up behind some bushes. She felt a little better after that and, despite being near to tears and aching all over, she managed to reach their bedchamber without falling. She peeled off her outer clothes and, with a sense of doom and horror, discovered blood on her nether male undergarment. She must have miscounted the days to when her next monthly courses were due. What was she going to do now? She had never been in such a dilemma before and, for a moment, was at a loss how to deal with the situation. Then common sense asserted itself and she locked the door.

Hastily she took off her shirt and began to remove the binding that constrained her breasts. Tearing a length of the material, she made it into a pad and placed it inside the nether garment. Then she put on her shirt and hose before ripping up more of the binding and placing them with her cloak and doublet before climbing into bed. She curled up on one side of it and fell into an exhausted sleep.

When Alex arrived outside the bedchamber it was to discover that the door was locked. He knocked at the wooden panel gently, but there came no sound from within. Had he frightened her so much by roaring at her earlier that she was scared he would hurt her? He tapped again and called, ‘Master Wood, of your courtesy, open the door?’

But still there was no response and, due to the utter silence, he concluded that his travelling companion had fallen asleep. He went downstairs and told the innkeeper that he had changed his mind and would have supper in the parlour. As for Master Wood, he had fallen asleep and perhaps it was best not to disturb him.

Rosamund woke hours later. The candle had guttered out and the fire was but dead embers. She remembered locking the door and guessed that most likely Master Nilsson had remained downstairs to spend the night in discomfort. A groan escaped her. She had not intended keeping him from his bed. Had he decided that she had deliberately locked him out for losing his temper with her? But why had he not banged on the door to waken her?

Perhaps he had done so and she had not heard him. No doubt he was furious with her. Was it time she parted company with him? What had he thought of her suggestions? What interests did a so-called Swedish jack of all trades have in London after having visited Lathom House and seeking out her father? A man whom he had told her that he had only met once. And what was happening on the twenty-second of the month that he needed to be in London?

The cramps in her stomach had eased a little and she replaced the pad, anguishing over this evidence of her femininity. Despite the soreness beneath and her aching back, she managed to pull on her boots and buttoned up her doublet. She put on her hat and fastened her cloak and, picking up her pitifully few bindings, as well as the soiled one, she let herself out of the bedchamber and crept downstairs.

All was quiet as she drew back the bolts and peered outside. There was a pearly light in the sky towards the east, which meant it would soon be dawn. She went and dug a hole in the soil near the stable with a stick and buried the soiled cloth. Then she washed her hands in the horse trough before returning to the inn. She found her way to the kitchen and went over to the larder and took a hunk of bread and cut slices of ham from the joint there. Then she let herself outside again.

The freezing air seemed determined to take bites out of her face. Nevertheless, she pulled up her hood before hurrying across the yard to the stable.

She was in the act of trying to saddle up Alex’s horse when a voice from behind said, ‘And where are you going so early in the morning, Master Wood, and in such haste?’ Her heart seemed to somersault as she turned to face the man silhouetted in the doorway.

‘Have you no answer for me, little thief?’ asked Alex coldly.

Rosamund took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. ‘I am not a thief. I was just trying to have everything ready for when you came out. I thought you would be tired after my accidentally locking you out of the bedchamber. I beg pardon for doing so.’ She swallowed nervously. ‘I also knew that you would want to make an early start, knowing that my presence on your horse has lengthened the time of your journey.’

Alex was confounded. ‘Are you being honest with me?’

‘Why should I speak falsely?’

‘Because you are scared,’ he said bluntly. ‘You ask much of me. I want to believe that you did not intend to steal my horse and escape, but give me a further reason why I should do so?’

‘I will be honest with you and admit that I have deceived you.’

Alex’s heart began to thud. Was she about to tell him that she was a woman? ‘What is the manner of your deception?’

Rosamund’s lips parted, but the words would not come and she despised herself for being a coward. Moments passed and Alex reached out and drew her towards him. ‘What is wrong? Is the truth so terrible that you do not have the courage to reveal it?’

She nodded wordlessly, conscious that her breasts were crushed against his chest. Perhaps she would not need to speak because surely he could not be unaware of them and would guess her secret.

Alex was indeed aware that her breasts appeared to have sprouted overnight and to his astonishment his arousal was instant and he wanted to take her there and then in the straw. He imagined her expression if he should do so and instantly released her. He did not want such a complication in his life. ‘I am disappointed that you still cannot be honest with me. I see you consider me no friend?’

She found her voice. ‘How can I consider you a friend when I know so little about you?’

‘I have given you a name and told you where I come from. You know that I like travelling and am a jack of all trades.’

‘That is still not a lot of information when it comes to giving someone your trust,’ said Rosamund.

Alex could not prevent a smile. ‘You’re not so crazed as your stepfamily seemed to want you to believe, Master Appleby.’

Rosamund started and a tiny laugh escaped her. ‘How clever of you to guess my secret.’

Alex’s smile deepened. Perhaps he should not blame her for wanting to continue to conceal her true identity from him. ‘You gave yourself away on several occasions.’

‘I would not make a very good conspirator, would I?’

‘I disagree. You have deduced that it is not always safe to tell strangers your secrets and to answer a question with a question.’

Rosamund agreed.

‘But of course, in providing me with the information that you have, I have come to the conclusion that you believe your stepbrother murdered your father.’

She hesitated. ‘Would you say that is a sensible conclusion to draw?’

He nodded. ‘But I would add that if you are Sir James’s son, then surely you should be in charge of Appleby Manor and his business in London, not your stepfamily.’

Rosamund was silent.

Alex said abruptly, ‘We will leave this for now. It is time we were on our way.’

Rosamund lifted her head and stared at him. ‘I have some food I have taken from the kitchen as I missed supper—shall we eat it later?’

He nodded. ‘Let us put some miles behind us.’

Whilst he was saddling up his horse, she went and fetched the pillion seat. They had travelled a few miles when Rosamund said, ‘What was your opinion of my father?’

He glanced over his shoulder at her sombre face. ‘As I told you, I met him but the once.’

‘Where?’

‘Down at the quayside,’ answered Alex carefully. ‘We were watching ships being unloaded. It was then he spotted the young captain of the Thor’s Hammer. He said he reminded him of someone he had known in a past life.’

Rosamund said, ‘What a strange comment to make. Did he say whom this captain reminded him of?’

‘No. And I have not seen either of them since then.’

‘Perhaps your young captain is dead.’

Her words gave him a shock. ‘That I have not considered.’

‘Why? If he is a seafarer, then it is a possibility, is it not?’

Alex could not deny it. ‘I sense he is alive,’ he said abruptly.

‘Why, if you have not seen him? Would you have expected to have seen him during the time that has passed since you last did so?’

‘In the circumstances, no.’

‘What circumstances are these?’

He gave her an exasperated look. ‘It is I who ask the questions.’

‘I have already answered several of yours,’ she said.

‘Then answer me this one,’ said Alex. ‘Give me the name of your stepbrother in London.’

She sighed. ‘I cannot understand your interest if you are but a travelling jack of all trades. I deem, Master Nilsson, that you are not being honest with me.’

‘I admit it, but I still want an answer to my question,’ he said in a steely voice.

‘Can’t it wait until we reach London?’

‘No! I have much to do when I arrive there,’ he said, hanging on to his patience.

‘Then if I must, I must. I just pray to our Lady and all the saints that I can trust you, Master Nilsson. His name is Edward Fustian.’

Fustian! Alex had met the man and considered him a smarmy, arrogant, insular fellow. He had a certain attraction for the ladies, which irritated Alex exceedingly. He had heard it from Ingrid that he beat his wife and treated her like dirt beneath his feet. Yet he had not thought to include him in the names on the list of those he suspected might be guilty of passing on information about cargoes and times of departure of ships sailing from the port of London.