Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (35 page)

She bit her lip. It looked so far down. She sat on the
windowsill as he had done and swung her legs over the side.

Redmond hissed, "Turn around and hang onto the ledge. I'll
catch you."

She did as he instructed, lowering herself, her heart pounding
with dread, and horribly aware that he must be getting another splendid
view of her undergarments. Strong hands caught her ankles and slid up
to her hips. Even in the darkness she felt her cheeks blaze.

"All right," he whispered. "I've got you. Let go."

"No! I dare not! I shall fall!"

"Mrs. Redmond," he growled angrily, "let
go
!"

Clinging to the sill with all her might, she wailed, "Oh, I
cannot
!"

"Good God!" he groaned. "My first elopement and we're to hang
about all night!''

Perhaps because she was so terrified, she found this
excruciatingly funny. Laughter bubbled up, weakening her.

Redmond gave a sudden tug, Charity fell with a little yelp of
fright and was caught in a steely grip. He staggered, and she heard a
whispered oath as they jolted downwards. Then her feet were on the
ground.

"You're heavy… as any pound of feathers," he muttered,
retrieving the cloak and throwing it around her shoulders. He shrugged
into his coat, took up the pillowcase, and together they ran to the
barn.

Inside, two fine horses were saddled, and eight others were
haltered together. The farmhand, a big loutish boy, was tied to a post,
a gag in his mouth and his eyes terrified. Startled, Charity glanced at
Redmond.

He shrugged wryly. "Nuisance. He wouldn't let me just pay him
for our hacks and leave, and started yelling he was going for his
master, so I'd no choice." He tied the pillowcase to his saddle, then
bent to stick two flimsies into the youth's pocket. "My apologies for
your discomfort, lad. I'll leave the horses in Warton." He helped
Charity mount, and waved her ahead. Swinging into his own saddle, he
took up the lead rein and followed her through the open back door of
the barn, the eight appropriated horses clattering after him.

They skirted the environs of Lancaster as the sun rose on a
damp, cloudy Monday. Redmond turned his string of horses loose on the
south side of the town, and he and Charity rode steadily southwards
until at half-past nine o'clock they came to the outskirts of Preston.
To her delight, he stopped at a reputable appearing hostelry and made
arrangements for a post chaise and four to convey them to Warrington.

Settling back in the vehicle she would, a month ago, have
apostrophized as shabby, but that now seemed the height of luxury,
Charity ventured a mild remonstrance. "Can we afford such magnificence,
Mr. Redmond?"

He climbed in beside her. "Certainly not. But these hacks look
to be good goers. I've promised the postboys a guinea apiece if we
reach Warrington by noon. And also, this may be a less conspicuous mode
of travel."

The horses leaned into their collars, the chaise lurched, and
they were off.

"If you wished to be inconspicuous, Mr. Redmond, why did you
tell that farmhand where you meant to leave his master's horses?"

"I told him I'd leave 'em in Warton. Warton's north, ma'am. I
chanced to hear the farmer speaking of it when we first arrived. Did
you think I was so daft as to leave 'em where I'd said I would?"

"I didn't know the name of the place where you did abandon the
poor things."

"Don't worry yourself into a state over the beasts. I fancy
they'll be rounded up, soon or late. And now, Madame Mulot, if you
could see your way clear to cease criticizing my poor efforts and
instead compose yourself to sleep—" His eyes were quizzing her. "You
had precious little before our elopement."

She laughed. "No, but I feel quite comfortable, thank you,
kind sir. Indeed I do believe I am becoming hardened to our hectic
journey, and I should like to see the countryside."

Leaning his head back against the squabs, he scanned her
animated little face. "You have managed remarkably well. Are you sure
you were not hoaxing me with your tales of illness and invalid chairs?"

"I wish I had been. The thing is that so soon as I was able to
stand, well, it was such a joy, you know. I could not bear to let a day
pass without walking or riding, however inclement the weather. Perhaps
all that exercise helped prepare me, to some small extent, for—for
this.''

"I would judge it to have prepared you very well indeed.
Nevertheless, I wish you would sleep, m'dear. I'll not be able to
afford another such luxury as this chaise. After we pay off the
postboys it will be bridle and spur the rest of the way."

His praise had delighted her; his concern was heartwarming,
but his final words brought a tremor of fear, and she asked anxiously,
"Are we going to be in time, do you think?
Can
we
hope to stop Claude's murderous plot?"

"We'd
best
have a hope of doing so,
after all this! And if we are able to keep on steadily until dark
today, with luck we should reach Brighton by Wednesday afternoon."

"How I pray we shall. And surely we will be able to stop along
the way and ask for help? There must be
someone
in London who'd believe us?"

He frowned. "I'd not care to hazard a wager on it. Frankly,
ma'am, I doubt it. Claude did his work well and is everywhere regarded
as a close friend and admirer of our sterling Prince. If we could get
to Wellington himself, perhaps. But he's likely to be already en route
to, or in, Brighton, by the time we could reach London. At all events,
with Claude's bullies so close on our heels, I think we dare not take
the time to apply for assistance that would more than likely be denied
us." He glanced at the window. "Blast! I think it means to rain. Your
view will be spoiled, my mouse."

A light drizzle was falling, the misty air quite effectively
shortening the view. "Oh, well," said Charity, "I saw Hadrian's Wall. I
had hoped to see the cathedral in Carlisle. Did you know that Sir
Walter Scott was—" She broke off, biting her lip.

"Married there?" finished Redmond. "I wonder was his bride
such a prattlebox as mine."

Charity turned to him indignantly, but with a lazy grin he
closed his eyes and settled into his corner. Charity opened her mouth
for a rejoinder.

"Go to sleep, you little wretch," he murmured.

She told him with some vehemence that it would likely be quite
impossible for her to do so since
he
snored like
three Minotaurs.

"Minotaurs," he pointed out, yawning, "do not snore any more
than I do."

"Wherever did you read such a thing? I believe you are making
it up. You do tell the most awful whiskers, Mr. Redmond."

And have some, eh? He opened his eyes again and felt his
stubbly chin. "I shall have to take the time to shave when we reach
Warrington, else I'll be arrested for my unkempt appearance. As for my
snoreless minotaurs, ma'am, I did not read about that trait. Rather, I
observed it firsthand."

"First…
hand
? Oh, come now! They are
purely mythological creatures!"

''No such thing! I have two perfectly healthy specimens at
Moire Grange. In point of fact, before I left I promised to return with
some dainty morsel for them to consume. My jaw-me-dead wife is the"—he
yawned again—"the prime candidate."

She laughed, but he really did look very tired. In fact, she
had not noticed until now that there were dark smudges under his eyes
and deep lines beside his nostrils. With a twinge of unease, she
wondered if he had been able to sleep at all when she herself had done
so, and she said no more, settling back and closing her eyes. At once,
her thoughts turned to her brother and Leith and Devenish, and she
prayed fervently that they might have escaped and that poor Guy might
not be desperately hurt. Her fingers were turning the ring on her
finger. She looked down at it, then took it off so as to inspect it
more closely. The wide band was intricately carven into a design of
intertwined roses and hearts, with a solid section at the back. Turning
it this way and that, she thought to see something engraved inside. The
letters were so faint as to be almost undecipherable, but she made out
the words at last.
Amor vincit omnia
. She stared
at the beautiful sentiment that had been engraved there so long ago.

" 'Love conquers all things,' " Redmond murmured.

"You are supposed to be asleep, sir."

"How can a mere man sleep when your brain spins so noisily?"
He stretched and eyed her with faint amusement. "At what was it
puzzling this time?"

"I was wondering," she said slowly, "if love did conquer all
things for them, whoever they were.''

"Does it ever?"

"Cynic! Have you never seen two people so attached that they
seemed not complete if fate parted them? Have you never seen a devotion
so deep that you longed for just such a happy state?" Her voice dropped
to a murmur. "My grandparents on my mama's side had that kind of
marriage. They were wed forty years and knew much sorrow, but sometimes
when they looked at one another, even when they were old, they would
smile as if…as if they shared a lovely secret."

She was silent, dreaming, but becoming aware at last that
Redmond had not responded, she looked his way, expecting to find him
fast asleep. Instead, he was watching her. He wore the strangest
expression. A look almost of regret.

Charity slept at last and awoke to the feel of a gentle but
persistent tugging at her hair. Redmond was bending over her. She could
smell rain, but she was warm and dry and, darting a quick glance
around, saw that they were in a stable and that she lay on a pile of
hay, her cloak wrapped around her and Redmond's coat spread over her.
"Good gracious!" she exclaimed, starting up. "I do seem to have become
a prodigious heavy sleeper."

He smiled. "It's all the fresh air." He helped her to her feet
and in response to her question told her they were in Warrington. "Are
you hungry? I've sent the ostler up to the tavern to bring us some
food."

It seemed to her that it would have been simpler for them to
go to the tavern themselves. The chaise and the postboys were gone. "I
didn't even hear them leave," she said in astonishment. "Did they lift
me from the carriage, sir?"

"Of course not. That is my privilege, for the time at least.
Besides, you deserved your sleep."

"And what of you?" She looked at him searchingly. He looked as
though he'd not slept at all, but when she asked if he had, he teased
her, saying he wondered he was not scolded again for his snoring. The
troubled look refused to leave Charity's eyes, and he went on, "Jove,
but I can see there's something to this marriage game, after all. It's
rather nice to be fussed over.''

"Was I fussing? I'd not meant to. It is only that—that it
disturbs me to think you feel obliged to stand watch over me."

Embarrassment made her colour rise, and she looked down,
making quite a business of brushing haystalks from her habit.

Redmond took her by the shoulders. Startled, she lifted her
face. He was gazing down at her, a tender smile curving his lips and
his eyes very soft. "Of all my wives," he said caressingly, "you are
the one I most enjoy watching over."

A terrible thing was happening to Charity's lungs. She could
scarcely breathe, and her heart was hammering madly.

It was very odd, because when her dashing brother-in-law put
his arm about her or gave her a hug of greeting, it did not cause her
such a spasm. Nor had Devenish's embrace created havoc in her breast.
Redmond was bending closer. She wondered vaguely what it would be like
to be kissed by such a famous rake and, quite sure she was about to
find out, could think of no reason to object.

Redmond could, apparently. He jerked back his head, his face
suddenly bleak. "My apologies," he muttered. "I forget that I am a
gentleman and you a lady who is not really my wife. Now where in the
devil has that ostler—"

A shadow crossed the rainy doorway. Glancing past Redmond as
he stepped back, Charity saw a brutish grin and coarse, familiar
features. ''
Shotten!''
she screamed.

Redmond hurled her aside and spun about, dropping into an
instinctive crouch, one hand flashing for the pocket of his coat where
he had carried a pistol. But he had spread his coat over Charity and
even as he faced Shotten the big man leapt forward, heavy club
upraised. Redmond sprang to one side and aimed a lightning left at that
heavy jaw. Shotten grunted and collapsed like a sack of oats, but
another came running, and another behind him; big men, their faces
alight with a savage eagerness that spoke of the price that had been
placed on his life.

Charity saw him whip off his jacket and wrap it around one arm
and, wondering, saw the glitter of a knife. A terrible fear plunged
through her. They were both rushing him. He fought with skill and
practised timing, but he was outnumbered and Shotten was already
stirring. Charity made a dart for the fallen club and swung it upward.
Shotten's bullet head raised. He saw Redmond and began to clamber to
his feet. Charity brought the club down as hard as she could bring
herself to strike, felt the shock, and Mr. Shotten slept once more.

Redmond had felled one brute, but as she turned to him he
reeled and went down and his remaining opponent swung back a large boot
and sent it smashing into his ribs. A red haze obscured Charity's
vision. She was vaguely aware of such a fury as she had never known.
Her club swung light as a feather in her grasp. She saw a triumphantly
grinning, dirty face lift to her, and then Mr. Shotten's club hit home
and the man was hurled backwards.

Without an instant of regret, she ran to bend over Redmond,
who lay doubled up, his arms clasped about his middle, his face
contorted with pain. With a sob of terror, Charity ran to the door.
Just outside, a rainbarrel was almost full, the raindrops plopping in
busily. She plunged her handkerchief into it and flew back to kneel
beside Redmond.