A Rose in Winter (10 page)

Erienne peered out over her wraps with the same wariness of a nervous hare until she saw Christopher's amused visage. The levity in those clear grayish-green eyes was hard to ignore. With an angry jerk, she tore off the covering and scrambled to her feet, trying to keep her skirts down to prevent any further embarrassment.

"You grinning buffoon!" she snapped and tossed the purse at him. "You did this to me deliberately."

The weighted purse hit him in the chest, and he caught it deftly as he laughed. "Did what?"

Irately she jerked down her skirts and smoothed back the curling wisps of hair that had escaped the sober knot at her nape. "I came here to return your purse, which I thought was gracious of me considering what you've done to my family, and then you haul me through your doorway and embarrass me in this manner!"

"I thought you didn't want to be seen, and to this moment I see no embarrassment for you. I was only trying to help." His grin had not dwindled in the least.

"Ha!" she scoffed and marched toward the door. As she reached it, she faced about and glared at him. "I don't like being made sport of, Mr. Seton, but you obviously enjoy causing discomfort in any manner. I only hope that someday you will meet one who is as skilled with weapons as you purportedly are. I should like to see such a contest. Good day to you, sir!"

Stalking out, she slammed the door behind her, enjoying the deafening sound it made. It bore evidence to the rage she felt. Indeed, she hoped she had made a lasting impression on that scoundrel.

A woman's scorn has been the downfall of a goodly number of men and the cause of many a conflict. In the case of Timmy Sears, Molly Harper's infatuation with Christopher Seton created a stumbling block the size of a mammoth boulder. Molly was certainly not what a person would call a "one-man woman," not that Timmy cared. After all, a girl had to make a living somehow. It was just that he had become used to "moving to the head of the line," so to speak, whenever he visited the Boar's Inn. It was a small honor but one he had come to see as his special right, being the meanest bruiser around and all.

Timmy, himself, was a blustery chap with a mop of copious red hair that usually jutted willy-nilly from under his tricorn. He had a ready though somewhat shallow wit, and as long as he had a wench to please his one hand and a mug of ale to occupy the other, his mood was generally liberal and boisterously jovial. He was large, broad, and squarely built, with a noticeable penchant to seize upon any excuse for a brawl, the more so if several lesser men were available to serve as opponents. It was firm in his mind that he had not been in a good fight for several weeks, since most of the stolid lads here and about had become ill disposed to broken heads or limbs and studiously avoided his overbearing overtures to mayhem.

Recently, however, there had come into Timmy's world a man of a type that, simply put, set him on edge. He was of a kind that made Timmy uncomfortable. To start with, the stranger was taller than Timmy, with shoulders every bit as broad, though two or three stone lighter in the girth perhaps. If that wasn't enough, the man was a smooth sort who was always neat as a pin and who obviously took a bath at least two or three times a month. To make matters worse, the bloke had an enviable reputation with firearms and moved with a sort of careless ease that gave one pause about resorting to any kind of foolishness.

Herein lay Timmy's quandary: Molly had started acting as if he didn't exist, while she doted and fawned over this Seton fellow, the very one who made Timmy's knuckles itch and who had moved into his favorite drinking place, it being of course the only one in all of Mawbry. The same wench, when bidden to serve the one who supplied her with trinkets, hurriedly slid trencher and tankard before him in her haste to be at the other's beck and call. A bauble did much to lighten her eyes, but payment for it was usually rushed and though temporarily satisfying, it left him with the gnawing suspicion that the wench made him pay dearly for what she would have freely given to the Yankee.

The worst of it was that this Mr. Seton clearly ignored her fawning attentions, denying Timmy a cause to call him out. Even though Timmy watched with the eyes of a sea eagle, the man did not so much as pinch those fine plump buttocks that oscillated ever so near to him, or reach out to fondle that full, ripe bosom, which was lowered for his gaze whenever she served him. She wore blouses so low that Timmy groaned in agony, and still the Yankee gave her no heed. It made the insult twofold in Timmy's mind. To reject that maid who stirred the jealousy was to carry the killing thrust home.

Timmy's spirit was sorely vexed, and his rage built, fed by the stranger's total lack of regard for his reputation as the village brute. When nearly every stout and worthy fellow in the North country scurried to get out of the way of Timmy Sears, the man calmly waited for the red-haired man to get out of his. It was enough to draw Timmy's insides in a knot, and in his mind he began to imagine ways he could shatter the Yankee's arrogance. Timmy would not be content until there was a fine knock-down-and-drag-out brawl to soothe his self-esteem.

Much gaiety was intertwined with the serious business of buying and selling while the seasonal markets of Mawbry were open. Musicians played their lutes and pipes for the high-stepping dancers while hands clapped in time to the music, tempting those who hung back to try their skills. Erienne watched them with eager attention, wanting to join but unable to convince Farrell to be her partner. He had agreed to tour the markets with her and had not argued against pausing to admire the dancing since Molly Harper was prancing through the steps and swinging her skirts with carefree abandon. However, he refused to leave himself open to the ridicule of those who might poke fun at him if he were to partake. After all, he was not a whole man.

Erienne understood and did not press, yet she hardly approved of the wall he was building around himself. Still, it was a day for merrymaking, and the smiles and laughter were infectious. Her toes tapped and her eyes sparkled. Her hands met in a rhythmic clapping until she saw the tall figure of a man leaning indolently against a nearby tree. She recognized him at once and realized he was regarding her with an amused smile. In the grayish-green eyes there was a glowing intensity, and the slow, thoroughly brazen scrutiny that followed brought the color mounting to her cheeks and ire burning through her being. He was deliberately trying to antagonize her, she was sure of it! No gentleman would look at a lady in such a manner.

Raising her nose to a lofty elevation, she turned a cool shoulder to the man. To her surprise, she found that Farrell had left her to her own ends and was wandering off with Molly in the direction of the inn. The serving wench had spent a triplet of hours trying to catch the Yankee's eye and now sought to stir a bit of jealousy. Never had she tried so hard to lure a man into her bed and never had she failed so miserably. It was enough to shatter a poor maid's confidence the way the man ignored her.

As Erienne ground her teeth in irritation, a hand came upon her arm, bringing her about with a start, wondering how Christopher Seton had crossed the distance between them so swiftly. She was much relieved to find that it was Allan Parker and not the Yankee.

Allan pressed a hand to his vested breast in a brief but gallant bow and stated the obvious with a pleased smile. "Your brother has left you in need of escort, Miss Fleming. One can never be sure when that dastardly band of Scots might choose to raid our village and sweep away our beauteous maidens. Thus I have come to offer my protection."

Erienne laughed brightly, hoping that obnoxious wretch of a Yankee was a witness to the man's manners. At least someone in the village knew how to comport himself like a gentleman.

"Would you care to join the dancing?" Allan invited.

She smiled, tossed her shawl over a bush, and laid her hand into the one he presented, casting a surreptitious glance toward the tree where the rakish fellow stood as the sheriff led her into the circle of dancers. The Yankee was grinning like a mindless jackanapes, and the suspicion that he was amused by it all pricked her pleasure for the moment.

The lively rigadoon, however, took her mind away from the watcher as she lent her talent to the dance. Christopher moved to stand at the fore of the spectators, and with his arms folded across his chest, his long legs braced slightly apart, he gave the impression of some king of eld standing head and shoulders above the common folk, as if he had come with his magical sword to rescue them from the cruel oppressor. The fact that he was a most uncommon man in appearance was readily evident to young maid and old alike. Flirtatious glances, inviting smiles, and outright leers were tossed his way, but he seemed oblivious as his eyes followed the slender, dark-haired maid in the plum gown. He watched her feet fly in time with the music, and the display of trim, shapely ankles was anything but displeasing. Indeed, his steadfast perusal of Erienne Fleming became obvious to nearly every woman there, which caused a dull thud of disappointment to trip many a heart.

A large conveyance, recognizable as the Talbots' carriage, halted nearby, and Christopher used the excuse to intrude upon the sheriff. Christopher sidestepped the dancers, and reaching the man, tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

"Your pardon, Allan, but I thought you should be aware of Miss Talbot's arrival."

Allan glanced around and, seeing the coach, frowned slightly. Reluctantly he made his excuses to his partner before hurrying off. Erienne lifted a cool-eyed glare to the man who remained at her side, while the crowd eyed the two of them with wide-spreading grins. Nudging elbows brought the attention of others, and giggling, whispering conjectures ran wild.

"Shall we continue the dance, Miss Fleming?" Christopher queried with a debonair smile.

"Certainly not!" Erienne snapped and strode through the gaping bystanders with her head held high. Angrily she wound a way through the tents and the makeshift hovels that served the seasonal merchants, trying to ignore the man who seemed inclined to bedevil her with his presence. She could not gain any distance on his long-legged stride, and she tossed a command over her shoulder as he neared. "Go away! You're annoying me!"

"Come now, Erienne," he cajoled. "I'm only trying to return your shawl."

She stopped, realizing she had left the garment behind, and faced him. Her eyes blazed beneath his mocking gaze, and in a temper she reached to snatch the shawl from his hand, but it was soundly held in a firm grasp. She glared up into the grayish-green, sparkling eyes, but the heated words that were ready on her tongue were squelched by the interruption of a feminine voice calling, "Ya-hoo, Christopher."

Claudia hastened toward them, leaving Allan to follow close behind. Erienne felt a sharp and sudden irritation when she saw the woman, but she laid the blame to her own sorely vexed mood. Claudia was dressed out in a coral silk gown and a matching wide-brimmed hat, which all seemed rather overstated for the country market, but considering her intense greed for attention, one could hardly expect a less flamboyant arrival.

Claudia gave Erienne a derisive sneer as she joined them and, without otherwise acknowledging her presence, turned to Christopher.

"I'm so delighted to see you still in Mawbry, Christopher," she warbled. "I was afraid I would miss meeting you again."

"My business in Mawbry is not finished yet, and the way it looks, I might be here for some time yet." He drew a quick, challenging glare from Erienne and grinned lazily in the face of it.

Claudia saw the exchange and seethed to think that the other woman shared some secret with the Yankee. Thinking of a way to lead the man away, Qaudia swept a hand about to indicate the inn. "During the fair, the innkeeper usually lays out a feast worthy of a king. I was wondering if you would care to sup with me?" She didn't wait for a denial but gave the sheriff a coy smile. "And of course you will accompany us, Allan."

"I shall be delighted." The sheriff gallantly turned to Erienne with an invitation. "Would you care to join us?"

The urge to kick Allan's shins had to be suppressed, and it was all Claudia could do to keep her glare off him and on Erienne. Beneath the shelter of her wide-brimmed hat, Claudia's eyes narrowed menacingly until the other could not miss the bold threat.

"I... can't." Erienne watched a smug smile grow on the woman's lips and wished she could wipe it away with a different reply, but she had not the coin to spare. Letting the woman believe she was being successful in frightening her off, however, was a bitter rue for her pride to swallow. "I really must be getting back. My family will be waiting for me."

"But your brother is at the inn now," Allan pointed out. "You must join us."

"No ... no, really I can't." As the men waited expectantly for some plausible excuse, Erienne admitted with an embarrassed shrug, "I fear I am without coin."

Christopher quickly dismissed the problem. "I shall be more than happy to bear the expense, Miss Fleming." As she shot him an angry look, his eyes gleamed their challenge, daring her to accept. "Please allow me."

Claudia was wise enough to know that she would be painted in a less than generous light if she protested aloud. She tried the glare again, silently demanding Erienne take the hint, and did not fathom that it was her glower that really settled the matter for the other woman.

"Thank you," Erienne murmured, coming to a firm decision. "I should like to join you very much."

Both men stepped forward to offer their arms, turning Claudia's surprise into outrage. The woman straightened indignantly but was totally reconciled when Erienne pointedly ignored Christopher's arm and slipped her hand through Allan's.