Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (50 page)

‘No, thank you. The food was good,' Simon replied, giving her a wink and returning her smile. Getting up from the table, he chuckled softly as the girl picked up the plates and went on her way, her hips swaying seductively from side to side. He glanced at his companion. ‘Tell me, Henry, have you known the love of a maid? Is that what takes you to Scotland?'

Henrietta's eyes opened wide with indignation at the very suggestion. ‘No, of course not.'

‘No, you are still young. Whatever takes you there is not for the love of a maid.'

‘How do you know?' she asked him, making no further attempt at denial.

‘One's only to look at your eyes, lad. Not a spark of love in them. Take my advice and keep it that way. Women are every man's downfall and there are too many that are any good for the peace of honest lads like you and me. When I looked into your eyes just now, I saw just one thing. Fear! That's why I've decided to take you to Scotland. I've no truck with love. I came to the conclusion a long time ago that it's a waste of time. But fear! There's some sense in that. Now come. I'm at your service. I believe,' he said thoughtfully, ‘that you and I shall deal favourably together.'

Donning his cloak and ramming his hat down on his head, he set off out of the inn with long, purposeful strides, leaving Henrietta to ponder on his words. After a moment she followed him, still wondering why this man who for all the world resembled a pirate and was capable of instilling fear into even the stoutest heart, should fill her with such instinctive trust.

* * *

Hoisting herself into the saddle with an agility that both astounded and impressed Simon, Henrietta gritted her teeth and steeled herself for the ride ahead, refusing to betray her trepidation, for she could only imagine the great distance they would have to travel before they reached their destination.

Henrietta's stout-hearted mare matched Simon's big black gelding stride for stride as they headed north. The road was wide and busy with travellers going north and south, some on foot and some on horseback, and the guards on the back of stagecoaches frequently blew their horns merrily as they went by.

But as the day drew on the journey began to take its toll of Henrietta. She tried not to let her companion see it, but she was exhausted with fatigue and her inner thighs were so sore that she felt as if she would never ride again. She could hardly remember the girl who would ride almost daily in the park, cantering on her horse. That girl was a lifetime away from her now.

* * *

As it grew dark they were approaching a large village which likely meant a good inn, a decent supper and a soft bed. Dismounting carefully, she ruefully rubbed her bruised posterior and wished she could groan her misery out loud and sink her tortured body into a hot tub. Averse to revealing any hint of her waning strength, she managed to drag her stiff and aching limbs forward with a modicum of dignity, which, as Simon observed her discomfort, brought a mocking grin to his lips.

‘Sore, are you, lad? Too soft, that's your trouble. But worry not.' He chuckled infuriatingly, dismounting and handing the reins to a waiting stable boy. ‘You'll harden before you reach the Borders,' he said, offering his wisdom freely.

‘Or expire in the process,' Henrietta mumbled, having no difficulty imagining how pathetic she must look to him.

‘If you would allow me to offer my assistance, I have some salve in my bags I could massage—'

‘No, I couldn't possibly!' Aware of the colour flooding her cheeks, Henrietta shook her head.

‘What's the matter, Henry? Afraid to pull your breeches down in case I confiscate them?' Simon leisurely raised a questioning eyebrow.

Irritably Henry gave him a narrow look. ‘No. I'm capable of doctoring myself if need be, that's all.'

Simon shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Suit yourself, though I guess when a lad is as soft as you are, he might just as well take to wearing dresses.'

‘Will you stop fussing about my looks?' she retorted crossly. ‘I made the first day without complaint, didn't I?'

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Simon smiled sardonically. He was becoming used to Henry's contrariness, but in view of the lad's youth, he translated it more as bravado. ‘You did, Henry. The challenge will come in the morning when your muscles have stiffened up.' He glanced sideways at her, a devilish gleam in his eyes. ‘We'll see how you fare then. Come tomorrow night you might be begging me for that salve.'

Henrietta wouldn't ask him for his precious salve no matter how desperate she became. Refusing to let him bait her, she bit back an indignant reply. Looking up at him, she saw his face in the deep dusk and the soft yellow glow of the buttons on his jacket as they reflected the light from the window of the inn. It sometimes surprised her just how handsome he was. Self-consciously she tugged down the brim of her hat and followed him inside. The contrast between them was excruciatingly painful when she allowed herself to forget that he was a man on a mission and she a young woman.

The inn was, in fact, commodious. Simon procured them two rooms, but before Henrietta had finished her meal, the effects of the warm fire and wholesome food began to take its toll. Her head nodded with weariness and her eyelids drooped. She had not realised until then the depth of her fatigue.

Relaxed into the corner of the settle across from her, his long booted legs stretched out to the hearth, Simon was not unaware of her exhaustion. Beneath the grime of the road her face was flushed to a soft pink glow and her eyes two sleepy orbs of emerald-green.

‘It's been a long day,' he said softly. ‘You look done in.'

‘Yes, it has. Tomorrow will be no different.'

‘Nor the day after that.'

Simon watched her comb her hair back from her face. Suddenly the lad looked so young, vulnerable and completely innocent, despite his air of bravado.

Henrietta looked up to see him staring at her, and when their eyes met, he looked away quickly. From that moment on she grew even more aware of his nearness to her. She sneaked a glance at him from under her lashes and saw that his face was flushed. It was the fire, she thought, because he was sitting so close, or perhaps a result of the ale he'd downed so quickly.

‘Go to bed and get some rest while you can,' Simon said sharply. ‘I'll give you a knock in the morning.'

Henrietta nodded. Bone-weary, having shied away from Simon's practical suggestion that they share one room, she went to bed and was soon drifting into the realms of sleep.

* * *

The sun was not yet up when she was cruelly wakened by the sound of someone banging on the door. Shaking the sleep out of her eyes and struggling into her clothes and boots, she opened the door to find her companion standing there.

‘It's late,' he told her, his manner brisk. He was impatient to be on his way. ‘Come and get some breakfast and then we'll get going.'

Mutely Henrietta followed him, aching in every limb from the effects of the long ride the day before. Snatching a quick breakfast, they continued their journey.

* * *

The sky was overcast, but it was not raining, and towards noon the sun beat down on them. Henrietta pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and mopped her face and neck, wiping away the dust. She shifted her weight in the saddle to ease her discomfort. The day was just like the one before, and the one before that. Apart from the occasional stop to eat and quench their thirst Simon gave her no respite. Not that she complained, for she was determined to show him she could stand the pace.

Though it gave her some assurance that he had not yet guessed her secret, she wondered if all he saw was the dirt on her face and ill-fitting clothes, for it was there his criticism thrived. He could not know, of course, the effort she took to smudge her face and hair every morning when he threatened to dunk her in the river and scrub her clean himself. As uncomfortable as she was in her disguise as a boy, she was unable to discard it.

* * *

The further north they got the quieter the roads. It was midafternoon and they had paused beside a stream to eat some bread and cheese they had bought at the last village they had passed through. Henrietta had removed her boots and was dangling her feet in the cold water as she ate, scooping water into her hands to drink every now and then.

When they were back in the saddle Simon broached a subject she would have preferred avoiding. Instead of setting off at a gallop he was silent and thoughtful as he kept his horse's prancing pace attuned to Henrietta's steadier gait. Then, thoughtfully, he turned and looked at her.

In the course of their journey, despite his assertion that he would respect his privacy, Simon had done his best to discover why the youth was hell-bent on going to Scotland, but with a skill beyond his years Henry had managed to avoid giving more than vague, generalised answers, remaining reserved in his friendliness towards him, leaving him no wiser than he had been at the beginning of their journey. In truth, he was concerned about what would happen to him when they reached Edinburgh and they had to part company. Without his protection he would be prey to all manner of dangers that beset lone travellers.

‘When we reach Edinburgh and we go our separate ways, I can arrange for an escort to accompany you to Inverness.'

‘Thank you for your concern, Simon, but I beg you not to worry. I am grateful that you have allowed me to travel with you, but I am fairly self-sufficient and able to take care of myself the rest of the way. You owe me nothing and I will take nothing from you.'

‘You never did tell me why you were running away.'

‘I have no wish to involve you in something that is not your concern. You have problems of your own to worry about.' She was as determined to remain silent as he was to drag it out of her. She had her pride and her reasons, which she would not discuss with him.

Simon sighed heavily. ‘You are a stubborn lad, Henry.'

‘The same could be said about you,' she said, directing the conversation from herself. ‘All this time we have been together, not once have you let your guard down.'

‘Not intentionally I assure you. My mind is somewhat occupied with what might be going on over the border.' He looked across at his companion. ‘Unlike you, Henry, I have nothing to hide. What would you like to know?'

She shrugged. ‘In truth, I haven't thought about it.'

‘Well, I will begin by telling you that I was educated at a school in France which attracts children of Catholic families in England and Scotland. After that I trained in military arts and saw service abroad.'

‘Do you have a wife?'

Almost immediately his gaze shifted once more to the slight figure riding beside him. ‘I do not.'

‘So you are a bachelor and a soldier. That is a lot more than I knew a moment ago. And now?'

‘Now I follow the dictates of my religion and my conscience.'

‘Which is a dangerous thing to do.'

‘In this present climate it is so. But I am always slow to voice my opinion. In this time of persecution against Catholics in England, since the king and his ministers have not the slightest intention of toleration for the old faith, it is prudent to be diligent, which is why we Tremains have kept our titles and our land. Few families can boast as much.'

She looked at him sharply. ‘You have a title?'

Her surprised amused him. ‘I'm afraid so.'

‘What is it? How should I address you?'

‘I am Lord Simon James Talbot Tremain—but I give you leave to continue calling me Simon.'

‘So, you are a lord and you have inherited a fortune, yet you are unattached—uncommonly selfish of you.'

‘How is that?'

‘Having witnessed the way women fall at your feet when you enter a room—'

‘That will be tavern wenches,' he interrupted with an amused tilt to his mouth.

Henrietta shrugged. ‘What's the difference? Women are the same the world over and, though it pains me to say so for I have no wish to feed your ego, you are a handsome man. I imagine not a woman in the kingdom will spare the other gentlemen a glance until you have been claimed.'

He cocked an amused brow. ‘Why, Henry, what's this? Flattery?'

‘No. I was merely stating a fact. But going back to what we were talking about, if the conversation I overheard between you and your fellow Jacobites on the heath is true and Charles Stuart is indeed in Scotland, it can mean only one thing—that some disorder is brewing—that some extraordinary event is anticipated. Is there to be a rising?'

Simon didn't answer straight away—when he did, he spoke thoughtfully, picking his words. ‘Nothing is that simple, nothing is obvious. I am assailed with a multitude of questions but I will find no firm answers until I reach Scotland and Charles Stuart.'

‘Do you think it will be concentrated in Scotland, if there is a rising?'

‘I cannot answer that, but it has to be on a great scale for it to be of effect.'

‘Will the Catholics win, do you think?'

Simon's mood had darkened and his expression was grim. Although he looked calm and in control, his mind was in a continual turmoil of conflicts. ‘That depends on the support Charles Stuart can raise on both sides of the border.'

‘What's he like? Have you met him?'

He nodded. ‘He's young, with considerable charm and dignity.'

‘And is that enough to bring him to Scotland to lead an army of restoration?'

‘As to that, we shall have to wait and see. I was in Paris myself recently and, by and large, the prospect for a Stuart restoration did not seem to be preoccupying the aristocracy of France. One thing is certain. Whatever the outcome, it will bring about change for the Catholics. If it fails, the damage will do the cause no good and will be so great that both here and abroad they will be condemned. Anyone connected with the rising will be arrested. It would be a hard thing indeed to escape the full consequences if we were to be charged with rebellion and treason. Men have lost their heads for less. The Protestants did not scruple to send men to the gallows merely for saying that James Stuart had claim to the throne.'