If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance) (8 page)

“We will stop at an inn in the village.”

“Bened, I will not fall into a fever just because I went into the water.”

“You can never be sure of such a thing. Rivers are not the cleanest of places.”

“That one looked very clean.”

“We will stop at an inn so that you do not add the chill of the night to everything else.”

He went to tend to the horses and she sighed. Stopping at inns was not only expensive, but they also put them inside a building and away from their horses. She knew he preferred to remain outside as often as possible. Shaking her head, she went and got some food out of her bags.

Bened found her carefully tearing up some chicken to feed the dog. As it had dried, it had actually begun to look less like a rat and more like a dog. Nothing would ever make it a real dog, though. It was one of those women liked, keeping them on their lap or toting them around in fancy baskets and bags everywhere the woman went. He could admit the dog had charm but he did not understand women’s fascination with the creatures.

“Hope you left enough for us,” he said, and chuckled when she glared at him.

“Bread, cheese, and more chicken are right over there.” She pointed to a bag set only a few feet away. “I am never certain about what to bring along on a journey as I am not sure what holds up well for long carriage or horse rides. There is some ale and a little cider as well but I suspect they are quite warm.”

“Those three things do well enough. And warm drink is better than no drink. Cider is more tolerable warm than ale, though.”

Primrose smiled in agreement and then stroked the little dog’s head. It gave her a timid lick and her heart melted. She took a moment to check the animal’s sex and was certain she had a female dog. A name was needed but she knew it would be a while before she came up with one. She was very slow whenever asked to name something. It was probably foolish, but she considered the name very important and wanted it to suit the thing, plant, or animal perfectly, to actually say something about it.

Bened handed her a tankard of cider and sat down beside her to enjoy his light meal. She felt her stomach cramp a little in demand and went to get herself some food. When she sat back down beside him, it was to find him and the puppy staring at each other. The puppy had the remains of a little snarl on her face.

“What are you doing?” she asked Bened in a near whisper, not wishing to disturb the puppy in case it had the idiot notion to attack.

“Determining who is the head of the pack,” he replied in an equally quiet voice.

“What pack?”

“The one you just formed by bringing this little dog into it. Dogs need to know who is the head of the pack from the start or you will have a very hard time training them to do anything.”

“Where do you get these ideas?”

“By watching animals. Have been surrounded by them all my life. They have their ways. Dogs are pack animals.”

“I know that.”

“This one is testing its place. Snarled at me and I knew what it was about. It was a challenge.”

“And you had to answer a challenge from an animal that probably does not weigh as much as your boot?”

“Laugh if you must, but it is important. We are going to have it with us all along the journey and it needs to know that it should do as I say. And as you say, but that will be no trouble. You just became its dam, you know.”

“By pulling it out of the river?”

“Aye. By picking it up when even its animal mind knew it was going to die.”

“Animals understand death?”

“Why not? Animals understand the fight to survive, the need to procreate and protect that issue, the need to fight for what is theirs whether it be their hunting ground or their mate. This little one was fighting hard to survive and yours was the hand that reached out to help. That is something this dog will never, never forget. Me? I just showed up, although it helps. I was there when it knew it was safe again. And there we go. Submission.”

Primrose looked to see that the puppy had her head down, her eye flicking down and to the side as she obviously tried not to look straight into Bened’s who was calmly eating again. “That is it?”

“Aye. That is acknowledgment of the head of the pack. If it was not so exhausted and in the basket, it would probably show me its belly.”

“Oh. Its weakest spot. How do you know all that?”

“Told you. Spent my life around animals and they fascinate me. Studied them a lot. You should take note. This is why you should always be careful about what dogs you look at in the eye. Look at the snout first and only after you know it is safe should you try a look in the eye, and do not stare into the eyes for long unless it quickly shows you that it is a submissive sort.”

“Or what? What happens?”

“The dog could attack. It will think it needs to protect its place as head of the pack.”

“What about cats?” She frowned when he laughed.

“Cats have other cats they tolerate and a tom can get all puffed up and angry around another tom but they are nothing like dogs. They do as they please. You might think you rule, but I doubt that you do. We had cats and some liked me, but I never took much time to study them as I did dogs and horses. Horses need their herd, dogs need their pack, but cats just need a nice sunny place to sleep in as far as I can see. I just knew it could take a much longer time to get even the most basic rules to how cats live. I sometimes think cats live with us because we make their fight for survival easier but not always because they like us.”

She laughed. “You might be right about that but I like cats. Unfortunately, Papa did not. Not in his house.”

Bened silently promised himself that he would ignore any stray cats and, definitely, any kittens he saw along the way. He would do his best to make sure he led Primrose in another direction. It would cause him a pang or two of guilt if the animal was actually in danger but he would do it. There was no doubt in his mind that Primrose would turn them into some kind of traveling Noah’s ark if he was not careful. Her safety had to take precedence.

The ferocity with which he thought that surprised him. He looked at her feeding part of her own meal to the pathetic little animal in the basket and sighed. It showed a good character that she would be so loving to an animal most people would put down as useless. But it was more than that which stirred such a fierce need to keep her safe. He was not sure he wanted to look at the more right now.

She gave out another very delicate sneeze and he frowned. They would be stopping at the first available inn. Sleeping outdoors was safer, giving them more room to get away, but she should not be exposed to the night chill and damp. The way she glanced at him and then rolled her eyes told him she could see his decision on his face and he grinned.

“That look did not make you head of this pack,” she said as she went to put things away into the supply bag. “It was just a giving up of telling you that I am not sick and probably will not get sick. A sneeze is not proof of that.”

“It was a sign of the plague.”

“Oh, for mercy’s sake, I will not come down with the plague.”

“A sneeze is not something to ignore.” He assisted her in securely attaching the basket to the saddle.

“A sneeze is not enough to think I am headed for an early grave, either.”

Bened just laughed as he mounted his horse and started out to find the next village and a warm inn. Grumbling about men, Primrose nudged her horse to follow him.

“There is no need to rush me,” Primrose complained as Bened propelled her into an inn. “It is not as if I leapt into the water in the dead of winter. My skirts are already dry.”

“I still cannot believe you risked your life for that rat,” he grumbled, and then asked for two bedchambers and to be shown to a private parlor with a fire. He added a request for some food and hot tea even as he ushered Primrose to the parlor the maid directed him to.

The minute they entered the parlor, Primrose took the basket with the puppy in it to the hearth and waited while Bened made a fire. She then opened the basket, took out the little dog to set it in her lap, and rearranged the small scrap of blanket so that it covered more of the rough sides before setting it back inside but leaving the top of the basket open. The puppy took a minute to settle herself then sighed and closed her eye.

Except for the eye socket that had a covering of skin and fur instead of a proper lid, the animal was a pretty little thing. It had long fur, mostly white, with fox-red spots. Her face had that same red fur as a cap on her head and a mask over the eye area but white down the middle. It looked very much like the dogs standing with King Charles in a painting her father had hung in the library.

She ran her thumb gently over the place where another eye should have been and sighed. There was nothing there. This was not something that could be fixed. It was a one-eyed dog. The only other dog she had ever had had also had some faults but she had loved Constantine. He had been her constant companion for three years and then was suddenly gone. Primrose frowned for she did not recall much more than that but she was sure she ought to.

“That is odd,” she muttered as she stroked the dog.

“What is odd?” asked Bened as he served her some hot tea. “Odder than nearly drowning yourself to save a one-eyed dog?” He watched her stroke her thumb over the patch of skin where an eye should be again. “Is there any eye there?”

“No, nothing. I did wonder if it was just that the lids had formed wrong but, no, there is no eye at all. I can barely feel the hollow in the bone where it should have formed. What I was thinking was a bit odd was that I can clearly recall my little dog, Constantine, but nothing about why he was suddenly gone. For three years he was always there and then he was not.”

“He ran away.”

“He must have and yet I barely recall any more than everyone searching for him for a day or two and then nothing.” She laughed uneasily. “’Tis as if a door shuts on my memories the moment the grief I feel over losing him begins to rise.”

“Because there is something there you do not wish to recall.” He sat down beside her.

“That would explain the remnants of fear and horror I felt as I just pushed to try to recover the memory. When I was trying to find some reason for my fear of the dark, the same thing happened. I also discovered that I have a lot of holes in my childhood memories.”

“One tends to forget a lot of one’s childhood.”

“True, but you usually recall the big things. Something made me not grow out of a deep, childish fear of the dark, especially when caught outside in it, but now that I know what it was that caused it, sad and upsetting though it was, the fear will ease. Is that not how we learn?”

“It is indeed.” He sat down next to her, slowly reached out so as not to frighten the animal, and scratched one of the puppy’s soft ears. “Thinking of how hard this creature fought that current despite being so small, it is even a greater shame that he was born maimed and a runt. He could have grown into a fine hunter.”

“She
would have made a fine hunter indeed. She may make one yet. You cannot be certain a missing eye will affect her as badly as you think. She was born with it, first began to see with it. To her, looking at the world through but one eye is normal.”

“Ah, like a three-legged dog?”

“Did you have a three-legged dog?”

“When I was a lad. Best dog I ever had. Good hunter and tracker. Could even run, just not too fast and it was not a pretty thing to see.” He grinned when she laughed. “I jest, which would greatly surprise my family, but it was wrong for that woman to order the dog drowned. Some pups come out wrong. You can see it at the start. Look each over, snap the necks of the ones you think will not be chosen or live long or well.” He patted her on the shoulder when she made a soft sound of protest. “Quick, clean, and, done when newly born. Not a slow death with each moment left one of utter terror. That is cruelty.”

“This time I am happy the lady was so certain of her breeders that she did not bother to check the perfection of the litter until they were weaned and ready to be sold.”

“I think that is one of those foolish little dogs ladies love to carry everywhere and yaps a lot.”

“Those dogs are untrained heathens. This dog shall be a Wootten dog, well-mannered and intelligent.”

“Of course.”

He put his arm around her shoulders and lightly hugged her. “Something still troubles you.”

“My own cowardice,” she muttered. “Who but a coward hides from the truth even from herself just because each time she tries to think on it, it brings bad feelings to life along with the memory. I understand the child doing it but not the adult continuing to do it.”

“Your mind protected the child.”

“My mind did it?”

“Why not? Minds can do wondrous things. Look at my own family, at the gifts given to us. There are several of us who can know an enemy is near like I can or can have visions of what is about to happen or know danger lies just around the corner. Your mind saw danger in how terrified you had become and decided the best thing to do was to bury that memory so deep it could not slip out and terrify you again unless you actually reached out for it. It protects itself from breaking that way, too, I think. I have been to war and seen similar things. Battle is a bloody, gruesome, noisy business and it can break a man, or woman, even a child caught up in the viciousness of it. But, at times, the mind takes another turn and just tries to protect itself by burying any memory of the event that tried to break it.”

“You have given this a lot of thought.”

“As I said, I have been to battle. I have held the ones whose minds broke and studied very carefully the ones who got some, well, shield, something that pushes away memories and thoughts of some horror they have seen and so they can keep doing as ordered.”

“Ah, you studied them. It was an intriguing puzzle to you.” She smiled faintly. “I think Papa would have liked you.”

“Thank you, Miss Wootten. That was a fine compliment. Now, I believe food is required.” When the little dog lifted her head at the mention of food, Bened laughed along with Primrose.

 

 

Augusta scowled at Jenson. She did not completely trust the man but she did trust in his love of his family and believed she could accomplish what she had threatened if he betrayed her. He was needed to do the various chores that made travel more comfortable but he was beginning to know far too much about what she was doing and he was not good enough to completely hide his distaste. She did not think she would allow him to go back to Willow Hill where he would be within reach of too many who would listen to him.

“Carl has told me that my niece and her companion are in the inn at the other end of the village,” she said, idly wondering how her fool of a husband was managing without his valet. “I have told them to make her a little visit. Now I just need to find that damned boy.”

“You know where he is going.”

“No, I have assumed he is going to seek shelter with that perverted uncle of his. What I was about to ask you is if you have seen my niece’s lover? Everyone keeps calling him that big feller but I cannot see Primrose taking up with some brute.”

“He is no brute. He is a knight of the realm and a baronet. A Vaughn.”

“So you recognize the name, too, but do you recall if anything is said about the family?”

“A great deal is said about them and the other half of the family tree,” Jenson answered as he brushed the travel dust from her clothes. “They all descend from the Duke of Elderwood. Welsh by blood, although they are spread far and wide now. The Vaughns and the Wherlockes. I do not know much about this one except why he was knighted, actually given the hereditary title of baronet as well, and the man who saw to him getting those honors also gave him a piece of property. So he has gone from a prosperous farmer’s son with good blood to landed gentry and a knight.”

“What did he do to be elevated so?”

“Saved the only son and heir of an earl, a wealthy, powerful one. Heard that he actually took a bullet for the son. If rumor is correct, that appears to be his particular skill.”

“Getting shot?”

“Protecting family members of the gentry. He watched over the Earl of Collinsmoor’s younger brother when the lad joined the military and ended up in Canada. There have been others and would be a lot more if he did not seem to be very particular about whom he worked for. Now that he is landed gentry, he may cease to do that although I hear it pays very well.”

“So he could be a very good shield for my niece.”

“Indeed he could be but I suspect the men you have hired have judged his skill by now.”

“Then I may have made a mistake not sending more than one of them to shoot her as she and Sir Big Feller rode here. He somehow found the man I sent and shot him right out of the tree.” Augusta walked to the window to stare out into the courtyard of the inn. “He cannot be allowed to ruin my plans. I have been planning this since I realized I not only got the younger son but the useless one. Years, Jenson. I have slowly and carefully worked on this for years and I can see the goal I set myself all those years ago finally in reach. Some yeoman who got himself a minor honor or two will not keep me from it.”

“No, m’lady, but if I may say so, thinking of him as merely some yeoman might be a mistake. He is a man who has been to battle and a man with a family notorious for coming to the aid of anyone in the family who needs it. A family with many people in it who have done shadowy things for king and country. I have heard it said that if you attack a Wherlocke, which is what he is, you attack them all and if you hurt one of them they will descend upon you like a swarm of wasps.”

“Wasps can be swatted, Jenson.”

“As you wish, m’lady.”

She frowned, thought more on his warning, and then decided she was protecting herself as best as she could. The man would be silenced as would anyone else who might point a finger at her. That would be the end of it.

“When you finish with that, Jenson, go out and see if you can find any sign that Simeon has passed this way. And do not try to hide anything from me. If you find out something about him, you best tell me.”

“Of course, m’lady.”

A moment later he set aside his brushes and left the room. Augusta went to look over the work he had done, carefully inspecting each of her gowns he had hung up to air. The man knew well how to care for clothing. It was going to be a shame to have to replace him at Willow Hill. But culling would have to be done for she had no intention of leaving one single person who could speak of her guilt in the matter of ending all the Woottens save for Rufford. The only irritating part of it all was she would have to do the final culling of witnesses herself.

Primrose woke up to hear a soft growl near her head. She looked to see her new puppy curled up on the pillow next to her head staring at the window and baring her teeth in a soft, continuous growl. She groped for her spectacles on the small chest next to the bed, put them on, and stared at the window. She was on the third floor of the inn so she could not understand what could be out there to disturb her dog. Slipping out of bed, she put on her robe and tried to think of what to do next.

Then the window slid open and her heart leapt up into her throat. She cursed when she realized her pistol was on that side of the room tucked in her bags and so she was effectively unarmed. When a man’s leg was swung inside the room, she hastily donned her spectacles, dashed to the fireplace, and grabbed the ash shovel. Standing in front of the fire, she watched the man finish his stealthy entrance into the room. He looked at her bed and frowned when he saw that it was empty, then swung his pistol around until he was aiming it at her.

It was an uneven standoff. Primrose knew she had no chance if he decided to shoot her. Considering all else that had happened to her of late, she suspected that was what he had come to do but hesitated now because he knew the sound of the shot would bring people running. Not that that would do her any good, she thought, as she would be dead.

“Shame, really. You be a pretty little thing.”

“Then why do it?”

“Because not doing as she says gets your throat cut.” Before she could respond to that, a small bundle of white and red fur leapt from the bed straight at the man sent to kill her. Primrose gasped as the puppy bit the man on the ear. He screamed and yanked the dog away, tossing her aside. The puppy landed near the hearth with a yelp and he stood cursing mightily while blood flowed down the side of his face.