Chelynne (17 page)

“Take along your woman to carry your parcels if there be any,” he instructed, preceding her out of the room.

Chelynne found that the carriage was waiting, as if he had anticipated that she would want to join him. She felt a small victory in this.

The ride was a silent one, but thankfully Chad did not seem angry this once. His mood was quiet as it often was, but she did not ponder this too deeply. She hoped they would have something to talk about on the return trip. That was as complicated as her thoughts about her silent husband ran, thus far.

Their carriage was slowed as they approached a broken-down cart blocking most of the road. Two men labored hard to line up a wheel deeply embedded in mud, and a woman paced about the cart nervously, muttering and twisting her hands. Chad, chafed at the delay, jumped out and went to assess the situation for himself.

He talked to the men for a moment, gave some unasked-for advice, and was about to get back into the carriage. The swirl of a deep green dress caught his eye and he looked to see Chelynne near the cart talking to the woman and attracted to something within.

“Come, Chelynne,” he called. “Let’s be on our way.”

“Chad,” she called back. “Will you see? The child is ill and still there is no certainty they can move the cart.” She pointed to the deep groove where the cart had swerved. “It’s deeply caught.”

“Come along,” he said crossly. “Leave these men to free their cart.”

She turned away, ignoring him, and touched the child’s brow. He lay shivering beneath the blankets. “How long has the boy been ill?” she asked the woman.

“Days now, madam,” she said fearfully. “We could summon no doctor and must take him now to the shire of Braton to see one there.” As if to reassure the stately dame, she dug into the folds of her dress and produced coin. “I can meet the cost,” she said, almost apologetically.

Chelynne looked up to find her husband standing beside her, his impatience building and his good humor stretched.

The small blond head of the boy was hot to the touch and his breathing labored.

“He’s so ill,” Chelynne told Chad. “Could we take him with us to Bratonshire?”

“Come along, Chelynne. It might be plague.”

“Nay, not plague,” the woman argued.

“Chad,” Chelynne bit through. “We cannot leave them thus.”

“Get in the carriage,” he said sternly. “Now.”

She bit her lip and did as he ordered, shamed at having no more influence over this man than she did. He settled himself beside her and noticed that as the men continued to labor with the cart she watched them with pained eyes.

“Damn,” he swore, taking up his gloves and clambering out of the carriage with a quick angry hop. He shouted to the driver for aid and removed his coat, tossing it carelessly into the carriage. He moved to the scene again, positioned his own driver to lead the horse, and pushed from behind with the two other men. There was no yielding.

Mud, thick from the summer rain, caked his boots and splattered on his once spotless stockings. He walked to the edge of the road and found a split log. Placing that under the front of the deeply sunk wheel, he pushed again. Still there was no progress.

Cursing loudly, in English and in French, he removed his shirt and threw it in the carriage with his coat. He bent to the task again, straining his arms and back against the unmovable cart. Chelynne watched with something akin to worship as his muscles played across his broad back while he strained with the chore. She imagined her fingertips would not touch if she had the chance to encircle him with her own arms. Loud grunts escaped him as he pushed with amazing power and the thing began to ease. With one last command and a vigorous jolt, as he threw his entire body into the action, the wheel found solid ground and eased out of the impacted hold.

He stood and watched for a moment as the men and woman scrambled aboard the moving cart and rode with the child toward Bratonshire. He pulled on his shirt, turning his back to the women to stuff it into his breeches, and replaced his coat. As he climbed back into the carriage he glowered at Chelynne, but she smiled sweetly.

“I’m sure they’re grateful for your aid, my lord.”

“They’d have found a way out soon enough,” he grumbled.

“But you’re responsible for them, Chad,” she argued carefully.

“Not their every breath,” he snorted.

“Aye,” she murmured. “This once, their very breath.”

He looked away, not wishing to discuss the matter further, and kicked his muddy boots at the floor to chip away what had dried. He cursed again, under his breath this time so as not to bruise delicate ears, seemingly annoyed. But in his heart there came a strange softening. He made no sign of it but he was beginning to feel this gentleness move in on him and change the course of his thinking. Even though the feeling was good, he feared rather than savored it.

In the little town they visited there was much hubbub. Chad went immediately to the sheriff to see about some business and Chelynne was left to her own ends. Before he left, he told her where he would be, which was a great deal more than he usually did.

She hurried along with Stella to see what this village had to offer. Though the great majority of citizens were set to the task of tending the fields, there was a great deal of activity on the main street. Sensing the harvest and celebrations, traveling merchants headed their carts in the direction of the farming villages, ready to accept hard-earned coin and barter with farmer’s wives for trinkets. There was a booth set up displaying glassware, one for jewelry, and the usual tavern and inn. Chelynne noticed a humble dressmaker’s shop and a bakery.

It was not long before Chelynne was recognized. The fineness of the Hawthorne carriage alerted some and others remembered her from the day they traveled to Hawthorne House to take advantage of the earl’s generosity on his son’s wedding day. She was surrounded by villagers almost immediately. While one woman was eager to display her yard of cloth, another was tempting her with a fine pastry. There was still another anxious to brag about the newest addition to the family. In the midst of this confusion someone called out to show the lady to a coffeehouse where she might sit and take her ease and another bellowed about the newest cart of trinkets arrived with a gypsy to tell the fortunes of patrons.

Chelynne was enthralled with their hospitality. It was much like Welbering and touched a place in her heart. She begged to hold the tiny babe, a red-faced little creature nuzzling at his mother’s bosom and squeaking in discontent. She took a bite of a sweet tart and fondly caressed a length of velvet.

Suddenly the babe was pulled from her arms and the crowd dispersed to allow someone through. She looked in the direction of the approaching personage and saw that it was Lord Shayburn, with much the look of an overstuffed bear, heavily laden with lace and jewels.

“Welcome, my lady.”

“Thank you, my lord.” She curtsied. They moved together and the people moved farther away.

“I was unaware you planned a visit, madam. I would have gladly seen to your comfort.”

“Not necessary, I assure you,” she was quick to say. “I decided to come at the very last moment and I hope to enjoy the shops.”

“Allow me to take you to my home and serve you tea. You can’t possibly be comfortable here.”

Chelynne stiffened. She so disliked this man’s manner that she had a hard time keeping her feelings concealed. “I assure you, sir, this is what I do enjoy. And I haven’t had the opportunity in a long while. I’ll see some glassware before joining my husband.”

“I’m sorry to say we’ve nothing here of much quality, madam, but if you’re insistent, I shall escort you.”

“My lord, if my husband thought an escort necessary he would not have left me to go alone. By your leave.” She started away. She was annoyed with his pursuit, and more so when she found her arm seized.

“Never mind, madam, I’ll take you myself. I consider your welfare as my obligation.”

She snatched her arm away. “I assure you, I’m quite capable of walking!”

“I would consider it an unpardonable breach to leave you without proper escort, my lady,” he said with a bow.

“Oh, very well,” she sighed. “But I have no need of your support. I’ve two good legs, as you can see.”

He grunted disapprovingly and gave a jerk of his head, bidding Stella to fall in behind them. Stella’s gasp alerted Chelynne and she turned to see a young girl dressed in rags struggling to keep up with the baron. She stopped and looked over the pitiful creature.

“My lord, who is this child?” she questioned.

“Nothing to concern yourself about, madam. She is indentured to me for her father’s debts. That is all.”

Chelynne coldly eyed the leg irons. They chafed the child’s ankles as she hobbled along. “And bound so?”

“A scraggly little animal.” He coughed, digging a perfumed kerchief out of his sleeve. “I’ll have her minding her manners soon enough, I warrant.”

Chelynne went immediately to the young girl. She had a battered face, her eyes hollowed and bones threatening to burst through the young flesh she was so thin and frail. Her hair was a tangled mass of matted filth and the stench as Chelynne neared her was almost overpowering. Her torn dress, baring her legs to her knees, displayed the many bruises on her shins and the dried blood caking and scabbing around her ankles. Chelynne put an arm around the child to question the baron further, but she winced away with a pained yelp. Shayburn’s hand came up as if to silence her with a blow but Chelynne’s arm deftly crossed his at the wrist. Eyes usually soft and brown held Shayburn in his place with a golden sheen so cold it chilled the air around them.

With the baron stopped in his tracks, Chelynne turned her attention again to the girl, lifting her dress away to peer down at her abused back. Stella’s eyes went there as well, the older woman gasping audibly at the marks of many thrashings, festering and weeping.

“Why was this child beaten, my lord?”

The people of that humble village had begun to draw near to this scene once again.

“She’s a most difficult nature, madam,” he said easily. “She’ll not work as she’s told to.”

“Perhaps she has not the strength. Do you feed her?”

“Madam?”

“She’s thin and weak. Is this how you treat your servants?”

“Madam, you misunderstand. She is not in my employ at all. She is indentured to me. Bond servant, nothing more.” His tone was most courteous, carefully hiding the displeasure he felt at being cross-examined by this wisp of a girl. “She gets only as she’s due.”

Chelynne had never felt disgust this strongly. She would have impulsively slapped the man’s face had she not caught herself. Anger welled up inside of her until she seethed, but the close presence of the townspeople cautioned her to mark her words carefully and take care with her privy authority. “She’s not even ten years old, my lord. Must one so young be impounded for the debts of another?”

“Nay, madam. She is four and ten. Already she bleeds.”

Chelynne knew the habits of some lords and their dealings with their churls, but Sheldon’s fairness and decency had spoiled her. She had come to think of some of the things she heard about as severe fabrications, or at least as happening only on the farthest corners of the earth, never so close to her own home. With considerable distaste she pressed the point, the words souring in her mouth. “And has she been used?”

“Of course, madam,” he said easily, not an ounce of shame in his voice.

Chelynne’s lips formed a tight, furious line. She was mortified beyond anything she had ever known. Her mind was set and she gave no thought to consequences. “What are her father’s debts?”

“Madam?”

“The amount. I wish to know.”

He bristled no small bit at having to answer to this young woman, but remembered painfully well that she was a young sprite of special importance to the earl of Bryant and that he was without choice. The amount was thirty pounds and he answered smoothly, “Five hundred pounds.”

Her response was a sharp, cruel laugh. “Five hundred pound!” she cried. “You must think me an addled fool. Surely, my lord, you don’t expect me to believe that your generosity would extend itself to those limits for a member of this simple burgh. Here now, try me again with a figure, and make it at least more believable.”

The man reddened and clenched his fists at his sides. “Two hundred, in that case.”

Again Chelynne laughed and started to walk away, a light hand pulling the child along with her. “I shall have sent to you one hundred fifty pound, my lord. In return I would like her father’s papers. It should see the matter done well enough, but let me tell you, I know it’s a gift I give you.”

“Madam,” he shouted. She turned and eyed him with cold contempt.

“Sir?”

“I do not wish to sell the girl.”

“That is unfortunate, sir, for I wish to have her. Shall I speak to His Lordship and have him bargain for me?”

Shayburn huffed and snorted, drawing the lace kerchief again to his nostrils and breathing deeply. He would not be pleased to have this battered child in the earl’s own household to remind him again of matters often and wearily discussed: the management of this village. But he was trapped.