If He's Noble (Wherlocke Book 7) (Paranormal Historical Romance) (3 page)

Without his gift, he would never have found the men for the sun had set, leaving only faint moonlight to reveal the trail left. Fortunately, that trail appeared as clear as a signpost to him. Within an hour he had found the men. They sat around a small fire just off the road, thinking the trees hid them well enough. Bened slipped off his horse, secured it, and crept up behind the men. It surprised him that they had not gone very far but then realized many others would stop when it grew dark too.

Quietly he untethered the horses he had come after so that he would be able to flee quickly with them if he had to. Whoever had hired these men and set them on Primrose’s trail had wasted their money. They were crude lackwits. Did they truly believe no one would set out after them for the theft of two finely bred horses? Not only had they left a clear trail but they had not even gone very far before stopping, then lighting a small fire to mark where they were for anyone who did choose to chase them down. The fools were not even keeping a close watch on their valuable prizes.

“I be thinking we should have gone farther down the road,” grumbled the biggest of the three men.

“No one’s even going to know the horses are gone ’til the mornin’, Will.” The man who spoke scratched under his ragged beard. “That lad will nay be warning anyone.”

“Not sure I trust that old bitch we just risked a hanging for either.”

“She is paying us well.”

“True, but I do not much trust her, neither,” said the thin man with the long, visibly filthy blond hair.

“No need to, Ned,” said the bearded man. “Three of us against her and one servant. And we got the horses, so the lass and that big feller she has with her now will be easier for the old crone to catch.”

Bened, fearing that one of the men might glance his way, moved to hide, using the horses as his shield. He was eager to leave but wanted to hear what the men had to say. Information was often the best defense and Bened was certain the old crone the men did not trust was Miss Primrose’s aunt. He was also sure that little Miss Primrose Wootten was still holding on to a few secrets.

He briefly considered hurrying right back to the inn to ask her a few tough questions but decided that could wait just a little while longer. The opportunity to find out who was pursuing her was too good to pass up even though he suspected exactly who it was. Over the past few years he had come to the conclusion that some of an heir’s deadliest foes slithered out of his own bloodline.

“Might be best to just send her word about our success,” suggested Will.

“Then how do we get paid?” asked Ned.

“By not being cowards and facing the bitch. She be just an old woman, fools.”

“She is nay that old and in fine shape,” said Will. “She is also mean as a badger, sly, and cold, Mac. Do not forget she is paying us to stop a sister from finding her own brother and is chasing that boy down like he is a rabid cur what needs shooting. I be thinking we have been dragged into some family battle and that is always bad. Real bad.”

Mac should listen to Will, Bened thought. Stepping into the middle of a family battle, especially one over money and land, was the action of a reckless fool. Bened just wished he could avoid it but a pair of big dark blue eyes were tethering him to this trouble. At least he was on the right side of the fight.

Cautiously, he began to move the horses away from the campsite. His horse, Mercury, had no saddle, nor did Smudge, but he did not need one. Once he gathered up the horses from the stables, he could ride Mercury and lead the others.

He reached the patiently grazing horse from the stables, secured the three horses together so that they would remain that way during his ride back to the inn, and then crept back to the campsite. While keeping a close watch on the three men, still arguing, for any sign that they sensed his presence, Bened untethered their horses. He walked back toward where his horses waited, paused and picked up three stones, then turned to look at the men’s horses. Offering up a silent apology to the animals, he hit each one in the rear flank with a stone then turned and ran for his horses, the sounds of chaos caused by three men trying to avoid being trampled and yet gather up their panicked horses following him.

Leaping onto Mercury’s back, he headed back to the inn, moving as fast as he dared while trying to keep the three mounts close together. The stableboy still looked chastened and afraid when he led the horses into the stables. Although Bened did not think the men would risk coming after him all the way to the inn, he decided to stand guard in the stables for about an hour. He then proceeded to give the boy a few lessons in the harsh realities of life. Once certain no one was coming after him and assured the boy would let him know if those men came sniffing round again, Bened left the boy with his ears probably still stinging from the his lecture and headed into the inn. As he moved toward the parlor, he planned what and how much he should tell Primrose.

 

 

“Are you really thinking of going to see that bitch?” Will asked Mac as they all secured their saddles on their horses.

“Why not? Need to tell her that we failed and convince her to let us try again.”

“Well, I am nay going.”

“Me neither,” said Ned.

Mac looked at both his companions in shock and then his mouth twisted in an expression of disgust. “Are you really that afraid of an old woman?”

“Not her exactly,” said Ned, “but of what she might have done to us because we failed.”

Mac mounted his horse and glared at his men. “Cowards.”

“I think you should consider nay facing her with bad news.”

“Damn me, Will, when did you become such a wretched coward you tremble in your boots over facing some old lady?”

Will shook his head. “Not a coward. She gives me a real bad feeling, Mac. Real bad. If you have to go, that be your choice, but watch your back. Watch it close. Me and Ned will wait for you at the Cock and Thistle.”

Still shaking his head, Will rode off. By the time he reached the agreed upon meeting place, he found himself wishing he had stayed with his friends. He became all too aware of how deserted the meeting place was. No one would be near at hand to see or hear anything. He was utterly alone. Slowly dismounting when the carriage arrived, Mac fought back a sudden urge to leave and go share an ale with Will and Ned.

“You failed,” the woman said as she paused in the doorway of the carriage before stepping down the steps lowered by her servant.

“That huge feller she has with her now found out we had taken the horses and took them back. Everything else went as it should. I do not know how he even discovered the horses were gone before morning. We should have had at least until the sun came up. But we will be ready for him next time.”

“There does not appear to be a
we
any longer. Just a
you
.”

“My men are waiting for me to join them. No need of us all riding here.”

“This
huge feller,
” she said as she finally left her carriage and stepped closer, “who is he?”

Mac shook his head. “No idea, m’lady. He just appeared at her side. Lad at the stables said he was called Sir Bened Vaughn.”

She frowned. “I do not recognize the name yet something about it nudges a memory. What matters now is that you failed. I do not accept failure, sir.”

When a hand grabbed his hair from behind and a knife blade was pressed to his throat, Mac cursed himself for scorning Will’s and Ned’s unease. The woman studied him as if he were some strange insect that had dared to intrude upon her stroll through her gardens. “Meet your replacement.”

Even though he knew he had no chance at all of escaping his fate, Mac fought but the brutal slice of the knife over his throat quickly stopped him. His last thought as he fell to the ground, his blood flowing out of him at a rate that would end him swiftly, was that he should have treated Will’s concerns with more respect.

Augusta Wootten grimaced and looked over her cloak. The blood from the wretched fool lying dead on the ground had sprayed far and wide. She could see a few spots on her cloak. Tsking with disgust, she took off the cloak and tossed it over Mac’s body before looking at her newest hirelings. The man cleaning off his blade and his two cold-eyed companions looked far more capable of doing what needed to be done.

“Get rid of that,” she said, waving a hand in the direction of the body, “and then we will discuss what needs to be done next.”

“Should we hunt down the other two?” asked the leader as he sheathed his knife.

“No. Who would they talk to about this without risking arrest and hanging? There are more important matters to attend to now. If we happen to stumble across those fools, we will deal with them then, but there is no need to waste time hunting for them.”

Carl Mullins watched the woman walk back to her carriage and her waiting servant and then signaled his men to help him carry off the late Mac.

“I do not trust that woman,” his man Tom said.

“Good,” replied Carl, “then I know I can count on you to help us watch our backs.”

Tom grunted. “She will see us done the same way as soon as she gets what she wants.”

“This is why we will disappear before she gets her hands on the prize she seeks. All we need to do is keep a very close eye on when that is about to happen.”

The word Primrose had just read fled her mind before she even began to read the next one. It had surprised her to find four books set proudly on a shelf in the private parlor near the fireplace, but she suspected guests had left them behind. Books were valuable but not so much so to some people that they would turn around in their journey to retrieve one. At least none of them appeared to be from some village lending library for such places could not afford the loss.

Her mind was too full of questions and concerns about one Sir Bened Vaughn to stay fixed upon the words in a book, however. Why had he not yet returned? It was dark now. The man might be all he claimed but she could not believe even a highly skilled tracker could find anyone in the dark.

It hurt to think of Smudge being gone from her life, lost to her forever. The mare was a cherished gift from her father, who was also lost to her now. Primrose could remember the day her father had given her the horse. She had been so sad for over a month, ever since her first horse had broken its leg and needed to be killed, ever since she had been thrown from the animal and hurt her head. When she had come to, it had been to the loss of her beloved horse and trouble with her eyesight, a trouble that had lingered. Then her father had given her the dappled gray, laughing when she had squealed in surprise for she had not even known why he had brought her into the stables. She could still recall admitting that she had not seen the yearling, had seen only a smudged image of something that moved.

There had been the hint of tears in his laughter after that but she had pretended she did not hear it. Her father had brought in physician after physician to try to fix her eyesight. She had felt his grief over what had happened to her and done her best never to complain. Her sight might have never gotten better but it had not gotten any worse, either, and she had made herself find some comfort in that. The part of her that suddenly wanted her eyesight to be perfect again because of a broad-shouldered knight made her angry with herself. If Sir Bened was worthy of her good regard, her poor eyesight should be of no concern to him.

Annoyed by her wandering thoughts, she moved to get herself more of the mulled cider the maid had left on the hearth so it would keep warm by the fire. Primrose knew all of society would be shocked to find out she was traveling, unchaperoned, with a man she had only just met. Then again, the fact that she had been traveling alone would have shocked them too. Society, she thought, was far too easily shocked.

Those in society also had evil little minds, she decided as she retook her seat and sipped at her drink. Why else would they immediately assume that she had been soiled just because she traveled alone or with a man not related or married to her? Evidently they thought women too weak and foolish to behave with propriety unless under the strict watch of some relative. The fact that so few women were deeply insulted by that opinion puzzled her. And did men not get insulted by the implication that they were so weak and immoral they could not contain their lusts when alone with a woman?

“Does not matter how unfair, insulting, and ridiculous it all is,” she muttered. “I was ruined the moment I rode away from Willow Hill alone. Having Sir Bened at my side only adds a few more stains on my tattered reputation. It is a small price to pay for finding Simeon and letting him know what sort of danger he is in.”

She sat up straight when she heard the faint echo of the sound of greetings exchanged and the inn workers responding to a new arrival. Primrose prayed it was Sir Bened. Now that he might have returned safely she realized just how deeply afraid for him she had been.

The door opened. Bened stepped in and shut the door behind him. He watched her, smiling faintly but with a look of caution in his eyes. Primrose did not even consider the good or bad sides of what she did next as she stood up, ran over to him, and hugged him. To her shock it was not just relief she felt as her body was pressed up against his and his strong arms wrapped around her. Beneath the lightness of the relief she felt over seeing him return unharmed, a warmth spread through her. Innocent she might be, but Primrose was almost certain that heat was born of desire. Blushing, she stepped back.

“My apologies,” she murmured when he grasped her hands to halt her retreat. “I fear I did naught but sit here and fret after you left to find the horse thieves and the relief I felt to see you return safely proved stronger than good sense and good manners.”

“I did not hear myself complain,” Bened said.

Primrose laughed but knew it was a shaky sound. She had not put on her gloves and she could feel the warmth of his large, lightly calloused hands spreading through her. It troubled her when she found it took a great deal of effort to move her gaze from his mouth and look into his beautiful eyes. The warmth of his gaze only increased the growing urge she had to throw herself back into his arms, to feel that warm, strong body pressed against her again. She nervously cleared her throat and tugged her hands free of his. The disappointment that came over her at the loss of the warmth of his touch worried her.

The man was a sore temptation, Primrose decided. It was odd for she was not one who was often tempted by a man, certainly not by just looking at him. Bened was not a man who drew the sighs of delight from many women as her brother Simeon did. There was no prettiness to Bened, just strength. He was handsome but not exceptionally so, his cheekbones a little too sharply defined, his skin good but a bit too swarthy to please some. His thick long lashes surrounding his beautiful eyes and, perhaps, his attractive mouth were the only hints of softness on his face.

His mouth was what kept drawing her gaze and she was not sure why. It was a little wide but that suited his square face. The bottom lip was fuller than the top, which she supposed was what gave it that tempting softness. Finally she found one reason she was attracted to that mouth. She wanted to taste it, to see if it was as warm and soft as its appearance promised it would be. And that was not an urge she should give in to, she told herself firmly.

“There is cider being kept warm on the hearth or I can order you something else. An ale?”

He should have grabbed the chance to kiss her when he had it, literally, in his hands, Bened thought. It would have been a mistake, though. Bened had seen the glint of interest in her eyes but knew she was not ready to give in to it yet. He was still no more than a kind man she did not really know, not even for one full day. Although he badly wanted to taste those full lips of hers, he knew he had to be patient. If nothing else, she was an innocent, well-bred young woman, most likely completely untouched.

“What I would truly like to have is some coffee but I doubt there will be some here,” he said.

“Actually, they do have it.” She smiled at his look of delight mixed with surprise. “There are several prominent gentlemen in the area and they learned to love the brew whilst at the university and when in London. They give the inn the beans and the tools to make the brew. All they ask is that the inn charge to cover the cost of any they brew for another guest and let them know when the sack of beans they give the inn reaches a certain level so they know to bring more or buy more. They come every Wednesday evening to talk and drink coffee. The innkeeper is actually considering buying his own and just selling the men a coffee when they come in but no longer having to worry about figuring out what to ask for each drink or if he can even list it on his offerings.”

“Then I should like a coffee, please.”

Primrose hurried off to get him one, eager to leave his presence for a little while. She needed to cage the urges he stirred inside her before she embarrassed herself by revealing it all to the man himself. He did not need to discover her weakness.

By the time she returned to the private parlor with the maid who brought them both a coffee, Primrose felt more at ease. She added a little cream to hers and sipped it as she waited for him to tell her what had happened. A chat with the people fixing the brew let her know that Bened had returned the horses but then everyone had become distracted by their own pleasure over how he had not demanded any punishment for the young lad who had allowed the horses to be taken.

“It was said that you retrieved the horses,” she said, carefully looking him over. “It appears you did so with no harm to yourself, as well, which is a happy circumstance.”

“I certainly think so.” He smiled when she laughed for she had a pleasant laugh, one that was light and carefree, inviting others to join in. “They were idiots. Your aunt did not hire the best,” he added, and silently cursed when she paled.

“You believe my aunt hired them?”

“I do. They spoke a lot of an old lady, a crone, even though one said she was not so very old and kept herself in fine shape. They did not trust her.”

“But they did not mention her by name?”

“Nay, they did not. Not whilst I was there to hear it. Yet, do you have any other woman you think would be trying to stop you from finding your brother?”

Primrose sighed. “None yet but I hate to think she would do this.”

“I believe you told me she was cunning, mean, and cold.”

“And very greedy, with a large opinion of her place in the world and society.”

“Sounds like a woman who could easily believe she has a right to ensure that she remains in that high place she thinks she deserves.”

“It does.”

Bened could see how his news upset her and fought the urge to take her into his arms to comfort her and ease the pain he could read in her eyes. He knew what would happen if he held her in his arms again. The feel of her slim, pleasantly curved body pressed close to him was still all too clear in his mind. He wished he could have found a gentler way to tell her what he knew but then decided there really was no gentle way to tell anyone such news. Betrayal by a member of one’s own family cut deep, even when one did not particularly care for that person. Too many of his own family had learned that lesson all too well.

“As you said, however, they mentioned no name. Did not even mention what she looked like.”

“Now you try to comfort me. Do not. I need to accept this. It could easily be a matter of life and death. All that stands between her and becoming a baroness with a fortune and some fine lands is Simeon. I have to think of him and not my poor bruised feelings.”

“You also stand in her way, do you not?”

“Not as much as my brother does.”

“True, but I have the feeling she may have plans for you as well. She has to know how you care for your brother, would search for answers if anything happened to him. That is not something she would ignore. Do you think she knows you suspected her of killing your father?”

Primrose nodded, remembering all the tears and recriminations Augusta had heaped upon her when she had guessed that her
darling niece
could think such a cruel thing about her. There had also been a lot of sorrowful talk of how much she had loved Peter Wootten, what a kind, sweet man he had been, and how much she owed him. Primrose had not believed a word of that but it had worked to end her intense search for some proof that Augusta had killed him. Augusta would not leave that to chance, however. That explained the sudden appearance of Sir Edgar Benton, the man her aunt insisted she marry.

“She had guessed,” Primrose finally answered.

“And claimed to be hurt and upset, crying about her undying love and gratitude for your father.”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You have seen this play before?”

“It was easy to see. It means, however, that she knows you suspect her. She will not chance that her act worked. Did she do anything to try to get you out of her way before you left to hunt for your brother?”

“She tried to marry me off to a Sir Edgar Benton, a neighbor and longtime friend of my uncle.”

“Ah, an old friend. And he was old, was he not?”

“Nearly two score years older than me. But that was not my biggest objection. Many women marry men much older than they are. The pool of unwed men who are considered acceptable through birth and fortune is a very small one. But this man is a horrid little fellow. I doubt there is a vice he does not indulge in. My uncle is about the only one for miles around who will even speak to him.” She sighed, finished her coffee, and set her cup down. “I also discovered that he was covering some gambling debts of my uncle’s. I was payment for that debt.”

“Sold you off. And she thought that enough to keep you quiet?”

“Once wed to him, I would become as ostracized as he is. I would be going nowhere and seeing no one. I think he may also have caused the death of his last wife. Rumor is rife that he beat her to death even though he claimed she fell down the stairs. I did my best to avoid it happening but soon saw that my agreement might not be needed in the end. That is when I decided I really needed my brother to come home. Yet now I fear I would be sending him into the lion’s den.”

Bened finished his coffee, set his cup down, and leaned toward her. She sat in the chair opposite his and he could see how uneasy talk of her aunt’s plans made her. This was the reason she had taken such drastic action. There was not even the risk to her reputation for her to consider for the marriage would destroy it anyway. Augusta Wootten was indeed a dangerous woman. Bened suspected the woman was as cunning as Primrose thought, so cunning that she was going to be difficult to stop.

“And there was no help from your uncle?”

“None. Augusta is the backbone in that marriage. He has none. He is a weak, foolish man. He gambles and makes no secret about his infidelities. Not once did he do any work while living off my father’s largesse.” She shook her head. “He is truly useless. If he knows what she plots he does not care, or might even approve, just doesn’t have the spine to do it himself. The only regret he showed for the death of his brother was to whine about what a pittance was left to him in the will. A will even I have not read yet,” she murmured, and frowned, then shook the concern of that aside. “There is nothing in him, if you know what I mean.”