Sweet Deception Regency 07 - The Divided Hearts (21 page)

Judith held the candle up in front of the
mirror to admire her handiwork. Her mouth dropped open in shock as
she stared at her reflection in the glass. The last time that she
had been dressed as a boy was when her father had taken her to
Tattersall’s. She must have been thirteen and had the lithe body of
a young lad. To the most casual observer, it was readily apparent,
that she had lost her boyish figure.

“Good heavens! The shirt’s bad enough,” she
groaned, “but the trousers are practically indecent.”

The shirt was a brown, coarse-weave cotton
which did little to hide the soft roundness of her bosom. The
buckskin breeches hugged the curve of her hips and clung like
damped muslin to her legs. Judith blushed at the wanton display of
her figure and turned away from the mirror in indecision. How could
she go anywhere dressed this way? She gnawed on her lower lip,
debating whether she should give up the whole idea. Stubbornness
came to the fore, but still doubtful, she burrowed in the pile of
extra clothes, grinning in triumph when she found the leather
jerkin.

Returning to the mirror, she pulled the
sleeveless jacket on over her blouse, sighing in relief at the
improvement. The jerkin was much too large so, instead of being
close-fitting, it hung to about mid thigh. She pulled the laces to
draw the front closed, much more comfortable with the look of her
ensemble. Once more she dipped into the pile. She pulled out a soft
brimmed chamois hat and crammed it on her head, stuffing her hair
up inside. Her reflection showed a creditable male, who, in the
shadows of night, would pass muster.

She shoved the extra clothes back in the
press and blew out the candle. In her stocking feet, she crossed
the room and opened the door a crack. With the addition of her
riding boots, she was ready. Sinking down on the bed, she curled
against the pillows, waiting for the midnight hour.

The clock chimed hollowly in the silent
house. A slight rustling sound indicated that Patrick was stirring.
Judith remained on the bed until the boy tiptoed past her door. She
knew that he would have to retrieve Mercury from the stables, so
she waited a few minutes before she followed.

Her heart jolted at every sound as Judith
navigated her way through the darkened house. She opened the back
door, easing it closed behind her. Leaning against the wooden
panel, she pulled on her boots and crossed the flagstone path that
led to the stables. Patrick’s cajoling voice floated disembodied
through the night air and she waited for the sounds of the pony to
diminish before she opened the gate into the lane. Mercury’s
waddling figure was easy to follow. Despite Patrick’s obvious
urgings to the contrary, the disgruntled pony kept to the center of
the road. Judith stayed well back, hugging the perimeter of the
trail as they wound their way up into the hills.

At first she was frightened by the
unaccustomed night sounds and the ghostly shadows of familiar
landmarks. Ahead of her a small animal scurried across the path and
she pressed her hands against her mouth to hold back a scream. Then
as her eyes became acclimated to the light, she was able to
identify her surroundings and guess the possible destination of the
boy. If she were correct, they were heading toward the old stone
mill.

Now that Judith had some idea of her
direction, she began to enjoy the unusual experience. She felt very
much in tune with the night. Partially it was the freedom of motion
in the male attire. She was not confined by massive folds of
material, having to concentrate on her footing in dainty slippers.
She moved easily, her booted feet sure over the uneven terrain. It
was an intoxicating adventure.

Patrick’s pace slowed as they approached the
brow of the hill. Judith held close to the hedgerow, watching as
the boy slid off the pony and tied him to a tree. Then he moved
forward, crested the hill and was lost in the darkness.

Judith’s heart jumped at the suddenness of
the boy’s disappearance. She searched the hilltop, her eyes widened
until the lids felt stretched. Trying to make as little noise as
possible, she ran quickly to Mercury’s side. The tired pony
snuffled at her approach but gave no indication that her appearance
had startled him. On silent feet, she hurried toward the top of the
hill, stopping in consternation at the unbroken line of underbrush
that faced her. Beyond that was a thick cluster of trees. She
searched frantically for an opening. She was aware that if she
failed to move quickly she would lose all hope of catching up with
Patrick. Hesitantly, she entered the woods, stopping every few
steps to listen for any sign of the boy.

The trees and brush closed in behind her and
Judith was frightened by the sudden quiet of the night. She was
normally a courageous person, but there was a tense, sinister
quality to the unnatural silence. In her panic she could not even
remember why she had decided it was so important to see Palatine.
Now all she wanted was to be free of the menacing woods that
threatened to entrap her.

Branches tore at her clothes and she
recoiled, wrenching away in terror. She had lost all sense of
direction. The heavy foliage nearly blotted out the moonlight,
making visibility almost nonexistence. Her breath came in short,
hurtful gasps and the sounds of the night combined into a moaning
cadence in her ears. She pushed at the bushes, wrenching them out
of her path as she forced her way through the brush. She was in the
grip of a mindless terror, her reactions controlled by her frenzy
of fear. Then suddenly she was free, falling to her knees on the
edge of the woods.

Across a small clearing, the stone mill lay
huddled in a shadowed mass. Sanity returned with the absolute
normality of the scene. Moonlight filtered through the clouds,
softening the rough stones of the building. Nothing stirred; the
landscape was motionless as a painting. Judith caught her breath in
a ragged sob, a shudder of relief passing through her body.

It took her several moments before she was
able to gather courage enough to stand. Even then, her legs felt
rubbery. She breathed deeply, pulling the air gratefully into her
chest. She felt foolish now that she was clear of the woods. And
once the panic subsided, she was angry at her irrational fear.
Staring at the deserted mill, she realized that her frantic
approach had cost her any hope of catching sight of Palatine.

“Damn and blast!”

Judith cursed softly but with genuine
feeling. She had wasted her time and frightened herself in the
process. Her noisy arrival would have alerted a stone-deaf statue.
Tears of frustration pricked her eyelids and she sniffed
disconsolately. Unwilling to further disgrace herself by giving in
to self pity, she shrugged her shoulders, turning to venture once
more back into the woods.

Her heart sank at the seemingly impenetrable
barrier. The thought of retracing her steps through all that brush
was daunting indeed. There must be a marked path somewhere. Her
eyes traversed the edge of the undergrowth, hoping to spot an
opening. Suddenly she sucked in her breath and her eyes returned to
a dark shape standing out from the line of trees.

Silhouetted against the woods was the
enormous shape of a man. Judith’s heart hammered in her chest as
the ghostly form stirred and advanced toward her. She had lost
control of her feet; they were frozen to the ground. The faceless
figure lumbered toward her and she shrank away in fear. The spell
of fear broke and she whirled, tearing across the open field for
the safety of the mill. Hard steps thundered behind her. Her eyes
strained to pick out the doorway, praying that by some miracle it
would be open. Her fingers scraped the rough wooden doorway just as
her pursuer’s hands reached out to grasp her shoulders. Brutish
arms clasped her to a massive chest and she threw back her head to
scream. But before she could make a sound, a gloved hand bruised
her lips cutting off her outcry.

“Spies always die silently,” a harsh voice
rasped in her ear.

Nate had finished handing out the
broadsheets when he heard the first sounds of approach from the
woods. Without any outward appearance of concern, he signaled the
circle of boys to leave the area by alternate trails. The flashing
grins on the youthful faces, assured him that his troop was more
thrilled by the adventure than worried by any thought of pursuit.
As the figures scattered and melted into the darkness, Nate moved
to the edge of the woods waiting for the interlopers.

Since the night the loggers cabin had been
destroyed in an attempt to break up the patriots’ meeting, Nate had
worried about the safety of his organization. The English set were
determined to discover his identity. Tempers were high with the war
fever and it would take little provocation to split the populace
into two armed camps. He had no intention of confronting the
unwelcome visitors. Once he had assured himself that they would be
no danger to the boys, he would slip away. Besides he was curious
as to the identity of the intruders.

The amount of noise coming from the copse
suggested that an armed troop was attempting to forge its way
through the underbrush. As the sounds came closer, Nate realized
that there was only one person and he was making little attempt to
cover his approach. Sobbing gasps and curses indicated that the spy
was inexperienced at traveling through the woods and had panicked
in the tangled thicket. At a particularly colorful string of oaths,
Nate’s mouth drew up in a grin and he relaxed the tension in his
shoulders. Whoever the intruder was, he was definitely no threat.
He suspected that the man, deep in his cups, had gotten wind of
tonight’s meeting. But whoever it was, Nate intended to scare the
curiosity out of him.

When the figure stumbled out of the woods,
Nate had to hold back a sharp bark of amusement. Obviously foxed,
the spy could not even keep his feet, but stumbled to the ground at
the edge of the clearing. By the shape of the figure it was a young
man but the floppy brimmed hat hid the features of the face.
Listening to the raspy breathing, Nate could almost feel sorry for
the lad. Tomorrow he would have a devastating hangover and, with
the scare Nate intended to deliver, the young buck would have no
further desire to unmask Palatine.

Nate adjusted his hat, pulling it more
securely over his eyes. His gloved hand tightened the mask covering
the lower part of his face and he stepped away from the trunk of
the tree. He moved silently through the long grass as he approached
the drooping figure. Putting his arms under his short cloak, he
fluffed out the material, so his silhouette would appear gigantic
against the backdrop of the darkened woods. When the young man
turned, Nate was only twenty feet away.

Moonlight caught the widened eyes and the
stiffening of the lad’s body and Nate felt a flash of satisfaction.
Moving heavily, he dragged his feet as he lumbered toward the
frozen figure. He had halved the distance before the young man
gathered his wits enough to turn and run. Terror gave wings to the
boy’s feet and he almost outstripped Nate to the door of the mill.
But at the last, he reached out and grasped the slight figure in a
crushing embrace. Nate’s hand flashed out, covering the lad’s mouth
before he could make an outcry.

“Spies always die silently,” Nate whispered
harshly.

He was thoroughly enjoying playing the
villain. He felt the tremor of fear that shuddered through the
young man’s body. The terrified fellow would not leave his house
for many a dark night. Preparatory to loosing the stripling, Nate
shifted his grasp. He froze when he felt the softly rounded shape
of the slim body in his arms. A woman, by God!

The woman’s heart pulsed in fear against the
muscles of Nate’s encircling arm. He felt conscience-stricken at
the terror he had engendered in the shaking figure and cursed his
own stupidity. Poor wench must think he was planning to murder her.
He hoped that she would forgive his actions once he explained. Then
in a flash of clarity he realized that no woman of reputation would
be prowling the woods in the night. She would have to take half the
blame for this contretemps, he rationalized and searched the
darkness for someplace where he could make his apologies. As he
moved closer to the stone mill, the squirming figure renewed her
struggles.

“Hold, wench!” Nate ground out harshly. “I’m
not through with you yet.”

When Judith realized that her attacker had
discovered her impersonation, she redoubled her efforts to escape.
Iron muscled arms imprisoned her. Her jagged heartbeat pounded in
her throat as she fought the suffocating pressure of the hand
covering her mouth. Blackness swirled before her eyes, but she knew
if she swooned, she would be at the mercy of her captor. Kicking
back, she heard the man gasp as her booted heel connected with some
portion of his anatomy. Then he shifted her position and lunged at
the door of the mill, shoving it open with his shoulder as he
dragged her into the stygian darkness beyond. His fingers loosened
on Judith’s mouth and she bit down on the gloved hand covering her
face.

“Let go, you hellcat!” The harsh whisper
exploded from the stranger’s mouth as he tore his hand away from
the punishment of her teeth.

Judith could still feel the taste of leather
on her tongue and smiled in grim satisfaction at her daring.
Strangely she was no longer afraid. The stranger’s voice, when she
bit him, had held a note of gentlemanly outrage that was in sharp
contrast to his brigand behavior. A sense of security invaded her
which was beyond her understanding.

“Who are you?” she asked. She spoke quietly,
keeping her voice low in the deserted mill.

Nate’s body jerked in recognition of the
woman in his arms. What on earth was Judith doing out at this time
of night? Did she have any idea of the danger she ran from the
wilder elements of the town? Had the totty-headed chit any
conception of what a tasty morsel she would appear to some drunken
swillbelly? How dare she put herself in such jeopardy!