Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (31 page)

He hesitated, then said, "I believe it is built on hills. We
likely only see a portion of it, but I fancy there will be an ordinary
where we can get some supper after we find a smithy."

Charity hadn't known how hungry she was until he said
"supper," but the suggestion of an ordinary was confusing. "Could we
not eat in the inn, or wherever you mean to pass the night?" she asked.

Again, he did not at once reply. Then, "It should be fairly
bright later," he said. "The skies are clear now, as you see, and the
moon should be nearing the half."

Charity, whose thoughts had dwelt with unutterable yearning on
a bed—if only a blanket on the floor where she might stretch out and
sleep—said bravely, "We will go on then, after we eat?"

In the darkness, Redmond's lips quirked to the sound of that
wistful little voice. He said, "
I
shall go on,
monsieur. You will—"

"Oh no!" She spurred the tired hack until she was level with
him. "You would not leave me?" She reached down to tug at his sleeve.
"Please,
please
! I know I am a—a nuisance, but—"

"Not at all. I merely think you will be safer here with the
stalwart Scots than you would be in the wilderness with a nefarious
individual such as—"

''But I did not
mean
it! You
know
I did not! You are a brave gentleman, and I was tired and did not think
before I—"

"Foolish mouse." He patted her hand gently. "You are so weary
you're all but asleep at this very minute. How could I ask you to go
on? Be sensible."

"If you leave me, Claude will find me! I know it! I
beg
you, do not!"

He frowned up at her. "You have little faith in your brother,
ma'am. What if
he
finds you first?"

"How I pray he will. How
I pray
they all
are safe! But what chance is there that they should come to this town
and stop in the very same locale as we? Mr. Redmond, you
cannot
desert me."

He turned away, and because he was troubled and shared her
fears, he said jeeringly, "Here is very much concern for 'I,' my
staunch patriot."

Charity stiffened. "Oh, but you are horrid! Were the truth
told, I doubt I have delayed you by one instant!"

"And even had you not, how do you feel, ma'am? How does that
soft little
derrière
of yours—"

"Oh! How
dare you
!"

"I'd dare more than that to convince your stubbornness. Good
God, woman! Don't you realize that if you're stiff and sore now, you
will be scarce able to move tomorrow? A sheltered gentlewoman such as
yourself could no more ride at the gallop for three days and nights
than—"

"Juanita Smith was a sheltered gentlewoman," she flung at him,
"and she not only rode at the gallop, but forded rivers and froze in
the snow and—"

"And climbed the Pyrenees beside her husband," he interjected.
"Aye—and she is as brave as she's lovely, but—"

Forgetting her resentment, she asked eagerly, "Were you in the
Peninsula then? How splendid! Have you met her?"

"Her husband was a Brigade Major with the Ninety-fifth Rifles.
My brother was with the Forty-third Regiment. Both Light Division. They
served together, so that it was my honour to meet Juana after her
husband sailed for America. And, no, ma'am. Another of my many
failings. I was not with the army."

She frowned at his back. His head was very high against the
night sky. "Lord," she thought, "but he is eaten up with pride! Foolish
creature!" Still, part of what he said was truth. She was so weary it
was all she could do not to sleep where she sat, and there seemed not
an inch of her that was not cold and aching. She would be better after
she had eaten and rested, though. And tightening her lips, she vowed
fiercely, ''He
shall not
leave me!"

They were coming to the first straggling dwellings of the town
now. Lamplight gleamed from cottage windows; the delicious smells of
woodsmoke and cooking hung on the air. A dog barked at them and then
trotted alongside companion-ably, and somewhere two cats traded shrill
feline insults. At once, Charity was reminded of Little Patches, and
her shoulders sagged forlornly.

"Wake up!" called Redmond impatiently. "Look, a smithy!"

A bright glow lit the night ahead; a sturdy barn, the doors
wide, the brazier pulsing with brilliant coals and leaping flame.
Despite the chill of the night air, several men were gathered by the
doors, chatting amiably, and the smith, his broad features lighted by
the fire, stood with sooty hands on hips, watching Redmond lead up the
limping horse.

"Well, now, "he said in a deep North Country voice. "Be ye and
yer lady coom fer me services?"

Staring at Charity, one of the men chuckled and dug his
neighbour in the ribs. Redmond scowled at him. "I amuse you, sir?" he
asked, well aware that Charity's dishevelled state had inspired this
insolence.

"Och, but the feisty cockerel will spit me wi' his claymore,
belike," said the offender, then flung up a hand as Redmond tossed the
reins to Charity and started towards him. "No offense, y'r lordship.
'Tis aw in guid clean fun, y'ken?"

There was certainly no ill will in the broad grins turned upon
him. "They're all bosky," thought Redmond, pausing. "That damnable
Scotch whisky, I'll warrant!" And with a sigh for some of that damnable
stuff, he turned about and reached up to lift Charity from the saddle.

Again, her knees betrayed her and she sagged against him.
Stifled giggles arose from the onlookers as Redmond was obliged to hold
her for a minute, and he cursed under his breath.

"I'd not interrupt ye, sir and ma'am, but y'r nag'll need a
new shoe," the smith pointed out redundantly. "And ye'll likely want
the pair fed and watered, eh?"

Looking at him over Charity's pert little hat, Redmond
demanded, "How long is all this going to take?"

"A wee bit, er, pressed, are ye?" asked the smith, reducing
his friends to convulsions. "Where might you and the lady hale from,
sir?"

"We
might
hale from Timbuctoo, but—"

"Mr. Redmond is from Hampshire and London," Charity intervened
wearily, stepping back from his supporting arms. " And I am from
Sussex."

"Thought so," the smith said, nodding smugly. "I bin to
Lon'on. Recernized yer way o' talking. Now didn't I tell ye so, Bert?"

"I am in a hurry," imparted Redmond.

"Ar. Well, we all is, ain't we, sir?"

The smith grinned at his friends who, ready to laugh at
anything apparently, guffawed loudly, one uptilting a flask which
confirmed Redmond's suspicions. Aggravated, he whirled on them sharply
and they scattered, still whooping, into the night.

"Ye'll likely find our ways a mite different up here," said
the smith. "But I reckon ye won't be much upset, eh?" His beaming grin
faded when it met a cold glare. " Ar," he said, with a sniff. "All
right, then. Redmond be the name, eh? Ye get that, Jamie?"

A shock-headed lad, writing laboriously in a ledger, nodded.
"Fust name?" he asked, yawning.

"You certainly do things differently," grumbled Redmond,
trying to contain his building wrath.

"I've heard the Scots are very thrifty," whispered Charity,
tugging at his sleeve. "Please, could we hurry? I am so very tired."

She looked wan and exhausted. Redmond snapped, "My name is
Mitchell Redmond. M-i-t-c-h-e-l-l." He added sardonically, "You get
that down, Jamie?"

"Ar. And the lady?"

"The deuce! If ever I—"

Charity intervened hurriedly, "I am Charity Strand. But we are
only
renting
the horses, you know. Is that all
you need?"

"Cripes, missus!" The smith scratched his grizzled head.
"Folks ain't usually in
this
much of a hurry. Was
ye meaning to leave the nags here, then?"

"Good God!" gritted Redmond. "Do you want the bill of sale,
I've not got it!" The smith stared at him openmouthed. Relegating him
to the status of an escaped Bedlamite, Redmond tried another tack. "My
apologies if we, ah, violate your regular ways of conducting business.
We are, as I'd thought to have made clear, in a great hurry. I'll make
it worth your trouble to expedite matters."

He had spoken the magic words. "Ar," said the smith, grinning
broadly. "In that case, we'll make do wi' what we got. And don't ye
never worrit, everything'll be done right and proper and yer nags took
good care of.''

"Thank you. Now, the lady is tired. If you'll direct us to a
tavern we will return when you've finished." The smith blinked and,
anticipating some further cause for complaint, Redmond added a
sarcastic, "Unless you disapprove."

"They'd oughta sign first," said the boy with an offended
frown.

"Great stamping snails!" Redmond marched to the dim corner
where the boy hovered. "Sign—where?"

Jamie jabbed a grubby finger at a well-worn ledger. " 'Ere,
sir. The lady, too." And alarmed by the glare sparking from those
deadly grey eyes, he cried hastily, "It do be the law, sir!"

"Then you've some damned stupid laws up here," raged Mitchell.
"My apologies, ma'am, but to satisfy these dolts…"

She tottered over and scrawled her name, the page blurring
before her eyes.

Slipping a steadying arm about her, Redmond said, "Now, kindly
direct me to an inn where we may be comfortable."

A dead silence followed this reasonable request.

Breathing rather hard, Redmond enquired grittily, "You
do
speak English, I think?"

"I'll… be gormed," whispered Jamie.

"You'll be damned well sat on your brazier in a minute!''
roared Redmond, his right fist clenching.

"Down the lane, yonder," said the smith hurriedly. "The New
World. Sits back, it do. Quiet and reasonable like. Will ye be paying
me in the marning then, sir?"

"The morning! Devil I will! Have the horses fed and watered
and the mare shod in an hour, if you please."

Still supporting Charity's wilting form, Redmond strode into
the lane, muttering maledictions upon all bacon-brained Scots
blacksmiths.

They left behind a stunned silence.

Looking at the boy, the smith whistled. "The bare-faced gall
of some o' they Lun'on folks! Lor', but it's a wicked city and no
mistake!"

"If ever I see a pair on the run," the boy said, nodding
owlishly.

"Didn't want to give his
name .
. .?"

Jamie grinned. " 'Where we may be comfortable,' " he said,
mimicking Redmond's cultured accents.

The smith gave a rumble of laughter. The boy joined in., and
they laughed until the night rang with the sound of it.

Charity awoke slowly, resenting the heavy hand that tugged at
her shoulder. Blinking heavy eyes, she saw a round white blob that
gradually materialized into the wavering flame of a candle with beyond
it a comely, rosy-cheeked face framed by a frilly mob cap.

"Och, but it be a wicked shame tae wake ye afore dawn,
missus," said this vision repentantly. "But last nicht, ye ken, ye was
sae fashed lest I promise tae rrrrouse ye afore y'rmon was abrrroad."

Charity regarded her drowsily. Her man… ? What on earth was
the girl—"Good heavens!" she gasped, sitting up as memory returned.
And, "Ahhh!" she cried to the protest of muscles seemingly nailed to
her bones.

"Puir wee lassie," commiserated the maid, but with a dimple of
mischief appearing in her cheek.

"He—he's not… gone?" Charity managed to enquire.

"Gone? What—and leave ye sae soon? Losh! He wouldna be sae
hearrrtless, surely?"

"Much you know of it," grumbled Charity, but seeing
consternation come into the guileless face, she smiled and went on, "He
worries that I cannot ride again today. Ride we must, and I've no wish
to be left alone, you see."

"Ah," said the girl, smiling and nodding as though much
relieved. "Is't stiff ye are, then? I'll run fer me liniment. Nae, do
ye not stirrr, missus. We'll hae ye up and aboot 'fore the rat can wink
his eye!" And she was gone, leaving Charity to the amused reflection
that there were more differences than accent in the way English was
spoken in Scotland.

The maid was as good as her word; Charity was anointed,
massaged, and bathed, and all with firm expert hands, so that by the
time she was ready to dress she felt much restored. Her garments had
been laundered while she slept, and her habit brushed and pressed. The
maid told her that Mr. Redmond had arranged this, and Charity felt a
warm gratitude as she
^:
donned the fresh, clean
clothes.

Thus it was that when Mitchell Redmond emerged from his room,
it was to see the door opposite opening and Charity stepping into the
hall. She looked neat as a pin, he thought. The touch of yesterday's
sun and wind glowed from her cheeks and the end of her little nose, and
her hair seemed to have been lightened a shade or two so that it shone
like guinea gold against her skin.

Charity greeted him with a shy and rather anxious smile. "It
was very kind in you to let me rest here, when I know you had planned
to leave at once. And I do so thank you for having my clothes
laundered. I only hope we've not lost a great deal of time because of
it."

"We'd not have got very far at all events," he said, politely
offering his arm as they walked to the stairs. "A mist came up which
must have stopped any traveller. I was tired myself, to say truth. But
we created quite some consternation when I carried you up the stairs.
Do you remember?" He chuckled. "I think the host's good lady was
shattered when I left you and went to my own chamber."

Blushing, Charity said, "It's very clear they do not believe
we are brother and sister." The words at once brought thought of Justin
and Rachel, and the swift thrust of worry.

Redmond was beginning to recognize the emotions that flashed
so swiftly across her small face. He murmured, "If they had come up
with us I'd have asked Dev or your brother to stay here with you. As it
is…" His lips tightened and he left the sentence unfinished.