Linda Needham (15 page)

He’d written a dozen lines already, but she watched him scribe the words,

“Stop who, Jared? The queen?” She leaned on her elbow beside him, admiring this other side of her husband.

“If he can.”

Just like that. “Isn’t that dangerous? Dashing off orders to the queen of England?”

“Sometimes it takes a very long stick to reach the woman and her pride.” His powerful, bronze hand skimmed over the page as he wrote, each stroke emphatic and elegantly male.

“What is it the queen wants to do that makes you
think her mad?” But then Kate remembered a single word that struck at her heart.

Ireland.
It was there in at the end of the note. The queen wanted to visit her loyal subjects.

“She wants to make a royal pilgrimage to Ireland next month.” He underlined the word
foolhardy
twice.

Kate straightened, shocked by the possibility, her contentment swamped by a cool, deeply abiding anger. “Then the woman really must be mad.”

He paused in his writing and turned slowly in his chair to study her fully, looking suddenly defensive of his queen. “What would make you say that?”

“Because her loyal subjects are starving to death over there. They have to blame someone. What better target for their anger and despair than an English monarch who dares set her plump, pampered foot on Irish soil in the midst of a famine? That isn’t just foolhardy, Jared, it’s arrogant.”

“For a monarch to show concern for her subjects?”

“What an inconsequential word that is. She’s ‘concerned.’”

“Believe me, she is.”

“Ballocks!” She sat on the edge of his writing table. “People are starving by the thousands because Parliament has decided not to feed them, because the poor obviously deserve the potato famine.”

He narrowed his dark gaze at her, dragging his tongue across the inside of his cheek. “It’s not quite as simple as that.”

Kate set her jaw. “I don’t know what could be made more simple to the queen than making sure the chil
dren of her kingdom are fed. Her own seem to be. Surely she has power enough to command the actions of her ministers. Give them a royal order to purchase all the Indian corn that can be found in the world. Then give it away at the relief depots instead of selling it to people who have no money left.”

He stared at her still, coldly unwavering. “Politics.”

She turned away from her husband, deeply disappointed in him, fearing what else this might mean for the future. “Well, if the queen truly accepts that scant justification, if she doesn’t have courage enough or care enough to stand up and fight Lord Russell and that bastard Trevelyan—”

“It’s not a matter of caring—”

She whirled on him. “That’s all that matters to a starving family. Caring enough to do something. So if you can’t convince your queen against this royal visit, then tell her that she’d better watch her back when she arrives in Dublin, because…”

Jared stood, bracing his boot on the chair seat and leaning close. “Because what, wife?”

“Because it’s dangerous. You know that yourself, else you wouldn’t be advising her against her visit. Am I right?”

He snorted as though she’d caught him, and turned back to composing his message. “More right than you know. The only thing more dangerous than a fool with a rifle is a mob of foolish rebels who think they can best the Royal Guards.”

“At least they attempt something.”

“Firing the docks and running guns won’t gain them anything but prison, or worse.”

“I can’t imagine anything worse than watching helplessly as your children die one by one.”

He muttered something at her, doubtless one of his dismissive curses, then scribbled off a few more words that Kate didn’t quite catch before he folded the paper and shoved it into an envelope.

She trailed him to the door. “I hope you’re not saying that a man ought to just abandon his wife and children to starvation instead of fighting for their right to eat a decent meal.”

“What I’m saying is that a man would be a fool to trust a handout from his landlord or the Relief Commission or Trevelyan or anyone else, for that matter.” He yanked open the door and handed the letter to Corey, who’d been leaning faithfully against the opposite wall of the hallway. “A shilling for you, lad, and one for the messenger. Tell him to hurry.”

“Yes, m’lord!” Corey grabbed the two coins then shot away down the hall. Kate shut the door behind him, feeling as though she needed to protect the young man from Jared and his type.

“And what of the thousands of children like Corey whose parents died and left them to fend for themselves? Should they trust a handout from their landlord or Poor Relief? Or do they scrabble around on the land, eating grass?”

Jared stared at her through darkly lashed eyes, their color turned silky black and smokey. “The wise ones take what they can, while they can, and then do for themselves as nobody else will.”

What a cold and distant thing to say. “A child shouldn’t have to live that way.”

He lifted his cup of tea to his lips. “No, but that’s the brutal truth. Take what you can, from whatever hand is open, and hope to hell you can duck in time before the blow lands.”

She’d never heard him talk this way. “Surely you don’t believe that, Jared.”

“It’s a hard lesson, but it serves well. You’ve only to look at your own mob of orphans to see it at work. They’ve all taken what they could from your lessons. They’ll doubtless do well wherever they land.”

Her stomach dropped. “What do you mean, wherever they land?” Yet she already knew his answer; that he was planning something bleak and solitary.

“This is as good a time as any to tell you, Kate.” He poured himself another cup of tea. “I believe I’ve found places for them all.” He sat in his chair, lordly and commanding, as though the discussion was over.

“Places?” Kate could hardly breathe, felt a weight settling hard on her chest. “They have a place. Here. Perhaps not in the hall, but somewhere nearby. A home of their own.”

“I promised to find suitable housing for each of the children, and I have done just that.” He gathered up a stack of letters.

“Where? What kind of housing?” Doubtless some horrid stone box in the middle of the city? Some kind of warehouse for children.

“Parish farms, relief homes—”

“You did this without asking me?”

“The problem was mine to solve. And I’ve solved it.”

“If you think you’re going to send my children into
slavery, you’ll just have to think on that one again. I won’t allow it.”

“Kate, they’re not your children. They’re strays—”

“But they’ve been put into my care—”

“And a parish farm is a far better place than a brutal Manchester workhouse.”

“But these children came from farms. Mucky little bogs of mud and peat, and shriveled, rotting potato plants. They’ve served their time in hell. I won’t send them back there.”

“This is England. Our farmers plant more than potato crops.”

“But the children don’t know that! They’ve found refuge from the terror here, apples and mushrooms and cabbage. And I won’t let them live in fear of want ever again. I love them too much to ever allow that to happen.”

“Enough.” He capped the bottle of ink. “I’ve made my decision. It’s the best for all, and that’s that.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, her regrets for what might have been. “I knew you didn’t understand the situation. That you would never understand. It’s just not in you.”

“Bloody hell, woman, what would you have me do? Adopt them all?”

The idea brought her up short. She’d never considered it before. Of course it was impossible at this point.

“And saddle them with you for a father? Not on your life Lord Hawkesly.” Her heart aching, Kate shook her head at him, sorry that he had simply refused to change, because he had goodness in him some
where. She was sure of it. The children had seen it plainly, right through all his blustering anger. “I’m just glad that you showed your real colors at last. Before I let myself…”

“Let yourself what?”

“Before I let myself be married to you completely. Be assured, my lord. The children and I will be gone by the end of the week. Good night.”

Kate left him to his small-minded, impoverished notions, regretting that she and the children were back where they had started five days ago.

Her heart aching, but a host of plans already swirling in her head.

F
or the umpteenth time since meeting his presumptuous bride, she’d left him standing speechless and immobile.

“Come back here, Kate!” Stark silence, of course, though the door still rattled where she’d slammed it. Not that threats seemed to mean a damn thing to the woman.

Or promises, or good intentions.

Hell, what orphaned child wouldn’t be grateful to live on a farm, with plenty to eat and a dry roof over their heads and a warm coat and a change of clothes. He’d have been thankful to have had half as much when he was a boy.

“Kate!” He shouted her name again as he reached the main corridor. And again in the middle of the lounge.

“Yer wife’s gone off to the hall for the evening, my lord,” McHugh said from behind the bar.

“Damnation!”

“Said something about the children.”

“Double damn.”

Janie appeared from out of nowhere. “Are you wantin’ something, my lord? More tea?”

“I was looking for my wife.”

“Ahhhh…have you lost her again, sir? Or shouldn’t I be asking that? Some sort of spy dealings?”

“Yes, Janie. It’s a professional situation. I’ll be working in the library, if I’m by chance needed by the lord of the admiralty.” Not that he expected to hear from the admiralty at the moment, but hoping to end this whole spy matter once and for all.

“The admiralty?” The woman dropped another curtsey. “Oh, my, yes, sir!”

“Good. And would you please have my belongings moved from that little garret room in the rafters to the suite on the second floor.”

“Done, sir.”

He stalked back toward the library. He’d be damned if he was going to follow Kate to Hawkesly Hall tonight. There was nothing that she could say or do to change his mind at this point. He’d made his decision about her orphans, she’d just have to bloody well learn to live with it.

With
all
of his decisions! Because however much she protested and wrangled with him, he wasn’t going to let her leave him. Or their marriage. She was his wife and had no choice in the matter.

Hell, that’s what he got for not keeping a tight rein on her from the beginning. For not sending her home from Alexandria with a minder, an entire entourage of
keepers. But how the devil was he to know she’d take on the world singlehanded?

Now it looked like he’d be still another night without claiming his bride, this time without even exercising his one-foot rule.

So he worked on a half dozen reports and compiled a half dozen more and dined in silence. Hours later he slipped into an icy bed in the best of Badger’s Run bed-chambers instead of that bloody little garret prison cell.

But his sleep was fitful and stuffed with nightmarish memories of an empty belly and long wintry nights without a blanket.

Of the workhouse and Squire Craddock’s unerring aim with a board.

Of doing his best to protect ten-year-old Drew and the younger, foolhardy Ross.

Of failing little Thomas so completely, finding him curled in the corner, dying, his small, twig-thin body broken and bloodied by Craddock’s unquenchable anger.

And now came the new faces into his dreams: his fiery-haired wife and the boy Grady, the dog and Mera, Dori and her missing teeth. The new one, Margaret, her eyes still as death.

He fought with his demons until well after dawn, and he was just dropping off to a softer sleep when he woke instantly to the sound of Kate’s voice from a distance.

He felt the pillow beside him, but it was cold. She was gone. No, she hadn’t been there all night.

The large window in his new room overlooked the forecourt of the lodge and the excitement below.

“My Douglasses!” Kate was shouting with an exces
sive amount of glee for so early in the morning, and about some man named—

“Douglas?” Another shot of jealousy zipped through him. “Who the devil is Douglas?”

A wagonload of barrels was just being hauled into the forecourt by that Elden fellow, met there by Corey and Kate.

But barrels of what?

Jared dressed quickly and was stalking toward his wife a few minutes later. “What is all this, Kate?”

She turned in his direction, blinked at him with those clear blue eyes, the morning sun glinting red on the ends of her hair. She hadn’t a smile for him this morning, but that compelling intensity was there.

“Douglas fir seeds, Hawkesly.” She patted the side of the wagon fondly. “From the tree that grows so prolifically on the west coast of North America.”

Seeds? “I know what a Douglas fir is. I ballast my ships with timber on every return from the Fraser Valley and make a damned good profit by it. What the devil are you doing with barrels of seeds?”

“Last spring I learned from one of our Scottish guests at Badger’s Run that the Douglas is hardy and quick growing and sprouts very readily from seed.” She came toward him with the fierce confidence he’d come to adore, her hips moving like honey—smoothly and succulently, like no other woman’s he’d ever noticed.

Honey that he wanted to dip into, to taste and caress. And if he wanted to partake of her any time soon, he would have to keep up his courting dance.

“You’re not answering my question, wife. Why?”

She stuck her fists against her hips. “I need the seeds because I plan to reforest the Hawkesly estate.”

“You’re going to do what?” He knew better than to trust one of the woman’s lunatic explanations.

“Let’s show him, Elden.” Elden was already at the tailgate, using a pry bar on one of the barrels.

His heart sank with the weight of her foolishness. Replanting a forest?

She pointed to a label pasted to one of the lids. “Directly from Edinburgh.”

The woman was mad. “Purchased from one of the guests who stayed at Badger’s Run?” So far she seemed to be a remarkably astute business woman. But she was, after all, merely a woman. Prone to fancies and charlatans and orphans and fast-talking sportsmen with barrels of seeds to sell to the unsuspecting.

“Mr. Lyons was very knowledgeable about cultivating healthy forests, and shared with me the many benefits of reforesting where the trees have been cut down and nothing replanted. Come, I’ll show you.” She went to the edge of the courtyard and pointed to a steep, starkly cleared hillside. “Do you see the devastation?”

“That was cleared centuries ago, Kate. And look at that slope. It’s impossible to replant.”

She looked up at him as though she were going to offer another of her wild-eyed theories, then blew out a sigh and shrugged. “Nevertheless, it needs doing as soon as possible. The hillside is slowly washing away. Magnus says that it’s the major cause of damage to the chalk streams.”

Convinced that it was best to point out the many er
rors in her plan as early as possible, Jared walked back to the wagon where Elden had pried open the lid of one of the barrels.

Expecting to find anything but seeds, Jared was surprised that the barrel was indeed full of them. Definitely Douglas fir. He reached in and lifted out a handful of the little brown pips, recognizing the fragrance of a thick western Canadian forest. A pungent, autumn smell.

He glanced at his wife, who was looking up at him in simple triumph.

And you’re going to plant them how? he wanted to ask. And when? Millions of seeds, across an enormous hillside made of rock and ridges.

But she seemed quite proud of her efforts and certain that all things were possible.

Besides, a project of this magnitude, not to mention its potential for frustration and failure would keep her out of other trouble for months on end. Simple for him to monitor.

And it would keep the children off her mind once they’d all been sent away to their new homes.

“I hope you slept well, Jared.” Her brows were winged, her eyes honest and searching for something in his own.

“I slept alone.” And damned if he hadn’t missed her like his own heartbeat.

“I’m truly sorry for that. And for the reason.” She gave an impatient little huff. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to help Elden get the seeds to the meadow barn before it rains.”

She flounced off to the wagon and pulled herself up
into the bench seat beside Elden. The stoically silent man had the decency to tip Jared the brim of his cap as they passed him.

Feeling utterly spurned, Jared battled the urge to demand that Kate stay behind. But he had already learned the hard way that the woman was made of stubbornness and resolve.

And despite their difference of opinion about the orphans, he still intended to court her until she succumbed.

Besides, she couldn’t avoid him forever.

Kate resisted the desire to turn back and look at Jared still standing in the courtyard. She had missed him dearly last night, him and the honorable distance he kept from her through the last three nights. Missed the soft, steady sound of his breathing.

A perfect man in every way but the one that counted. He simply lacked a heart, or refused to use the one he had.

“My lady, I couldn’t tell you this with his lordship nearby, but the
Katie Claire
will be docking in Mereglass tomorrow afternoon.”

“That’s wonderful, Elden.” A half day to load the harvest goods from the warehouse. Another day to get to Dublin. A day for the food to start arriving at Father Sebastian’s soup kitchens. Yet it always seemed such a long time, an eternity to the children whose lives depended on their next day’s meal.

“Wonderful, my lady, unless his lordship discovers her in port and goes aboard.”

“We can’t let that happen.” Kate jounced sideways
into Elden’s shoulder as the wheel hit a chuck hole. “I’ll just have to nail Jared into his room.”

“Or perhaps just keep him busy, my lady….”

It wasn’t until Kate was opening the barn door and Elden was driving the wagon forward that the perfect idea occurred to her.

“I’ve got it, Elden!”

“Just don’t tie him up, my lady.”

“You get the
Katie Claire
loaded and I promise to keep Jared safely occupied.” Somehow. Kate dropped the tail gate, climbed into the bed and found the single crate. “But in the meantime, if I understand correctly, the seeds need to be measured out and packed into small, silk bags. Here, I’ll show you what I mean.”

Even with following the instructions which had come inside the crate with the little bags, it took them nearly an hour to make the perfect seedbag.

“With a few helpers, my lady, I’ll have these finished by tomorrow afternoon.” Then Elden fixed a look at her. “Though I admit that I agree with your husband on one fact.”

“And that is?”

He nodded toward the barrels. “You’re more than a bit mad.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” She left Elden and hurried along the lane toward Hawkesly Hall. If she and the children were going to be gone within the week, then she had a lot of work to do. And letters to write. Contacts to make.

“Woof!” Mr. McNair! Just around the bend in the road, and Mera would surely be nearby.

“Do you see ’em, Jacob?” Lucas, too.

Doubtless she’d find the whole pack of them up to some mischief. They were still a bit too far afield from the hall, but at least they couldn’t be harassing some poor fisherman like they had Colonel Huddleswell.

Dori saw Kate and came running toward her, flinging herself into Kate’s arms. “Lady Kate! He’s helping us! Come see!”

“Dori, what is it?” Then Kate saw the rest of the children, in the woods just off the road, their attention fixed on the upper branches of an enormous, overhanging hawthorn.

“Children, what’s going on here?”

Glenna grabbed Kate’s hand and pulled her toward the tree. “Justin bet Grady that there was a baby eagle in the nest up there and then didn’t the two little fools climb up and get themselves stuck.”

“His lordship’s trying to help ’em down.”

His lordship? Jared?

Then she saw his big bay just off the road, the reins wrapped through the branches of a willow.

Traveling with a gang of ruffians, husband?

Once she stepped beneath the canopy she saw the man himself, halfway up the tree, one foot anchored on a thick limb, the other braced against the trunk, his arm outstretched toward Justin’s foot.

“I can’t come down yet, sir,” Justin said, all the boasting gone from his voice.

“Then hold right where you are. I’ll try to get closer.”

“Lady Kate’s here, sir!”

“Is she now?”

Kate found herself staring up through the thick webbing of limbs into the unreadable eyes of her husband.

“Good afternoon, wife. Enjoying the woods?”

Dear God, the man was powerfully muscled from this angle. From any angle, really. So difficult to believe that he was as hard-headed as a stone.

“What can I do, Jared?”

“Catch us.”

The children screamed and rushed around the base of the tree.

“He’s joking, children. You’re not going to fall, are you, Lord Hawkesly?”

“Of course not.” He looked solid as a rock up there, capable of most any act of courage.

Well, she couldn’t just stand there and watch. “I’m coming up.”

“No, you’re not!” Jared’s bellow shook the branches and the leaves and made the children cry out again.

But Kate had always loved tall places—trees or mainmasts or flagpoles; she could shinny up most anything in the blink of an eye.

Moments later she was gripping a branch and bracing her feet on the limb where Jared had just been, and he was now nearly level with Justin, a good thirty feet off the ground.

“Do you ever behave, wife?”

“Come, Justin,” she said, ignoring her husband and the grim and dangerous set of his white teeth, “show Grady how to climb down.”

“I don’t need no help!” Grady had thankfully crammed himself between the trunk and a sturdy limb about ten feet above Justin’s head, and didn’t look like he was going anywhere, anytime soon.

“You won’t fall, lad, I’ve got you,” she heard Jared
say to Justin. “The trick I use when I’m a hundred feet up, hanging onto the yardarm is to try not to look straight down.”

“Then what do I do next, sir?”

“I’ll steady you down to that lunatic woman on the limb below…”