Sybill (48 page)

She froze when she heard a bark. Her instinctive motion toward the house was halted when Trevor tightened his grip on her hand. She gasped, “It's Goldenrod!”

“No,” he whispered. “If we take him, he will betray us.”

“But Christopher despises him! He will harm him.”

“Hush, sweetheart. Mac will take him. It was the best we could do. He can't travel with us.”

Nodding, she felt hot tears in her eyes as they skirted the pools of light from the windows. Trevor was right, although she hated leaving her loyal and loving dog. Keeping the basket level, she tried to maintain the pace he set as they slunk from one shadow to the next. Once the hulking darkness of the house was behind them, only the familiar constellations lent their glow to light their way.

When Trevor saw how hard she was straining, he reluctantly slowed. Until they could strike out across the fields, they would be most vulnerable. He offered to take the basket, and she handed it to him. Without that extra burden, she was able to walk faster. In her simple dress, her movement was less restricted.

Sybill sighed in relief when she saw the gate was open. Although she had trusted Trevor to arrange this, so much could go wrong. Any they considered allies could decide the plot was too risky and switch allegiance to betray them to Christopher.

When she heard a sound behind them, she tensed to flee. Trevor's whispered explanation kept her by his side. “It is just the gate being closed and locked. Crowley promised me he will be unavailable when Lord Foxbridge discovers you gone. That will necessitate them leaving by the seaside gate. It should grant us several hours of extra time.”

“I hope so,” she breathed.

“Don't despair, sweetheart. Let's get our son.”

A smile brightened her shadowed face. “Yes, let's get him.”

It was less than a mile from the gate to the small cottage where Goody Johnston lived. As Mrs. Beckwith had warned, the yard was littered with broken tools and debris shadowed by the dim light. Clinging to Trevor's hand, she carefully skipped over a puddle of some liquid she did not stop to identify.

Goody Johnston met them before they could knock. The plain, rotund woman ushered them quickly into the cottage. It was more orderly than the yard. Tattered material covered the uneven surface of the table, but flowers sat in a chipped cup in its center. With a smile, the rosy-cheeked woman picked up a basket by the hearth. “He's been fed, my lady. He should sleep for a while. A fine lad he is.”

Trevor took the second basket, and Sybill grinned as he pulled back the cloth for his first view of his son. She placed her hand on his arm, and he bent to kiss her. “A fine lad is right,” he said, trying to mask his paternal pride. “Two fine children you have, my lady.”

Her smile dimmed slightly when she realized even now, it could not be mentioned that these children were not Owen's. The truth had to be hidden while they were in England. As she looked up into his dark eyes so like his children's, she knew it did not matter. They knew the truth, and that was enough.

Turning to the other woman, Sybill said, “Thank you, Goody Johnston.” From her pocket, she pulled a handful of coins. “Take this to provide for your own child.”

A man Sybill had not noticed exploded from the shadows. He took the coins before his wife could put up her hand. “Ours is dead.” The rage in his surly voice startled her.

“Oh, I'm so sorry,” she gasped.

The woman nodded as she blinked back her tears. “It was God's will, my lady. He was sickly from the beginning. Not robust like your fine son. There will be more.”

Trevor took Sybill's arm. “Thank you, again, for your care of Lady Foxbridge's son. Come, my lady. You will be late to meet your traveling companions on the Plymouth road.”

Saying good-bye, she wished she did not have to lie to this woman who had nourished her son for the first days of his life. If Christopher followed them this far, they must leave no clues to show where they were going. It was a slim chance, but they must take advantage of each opportunity to protect their family.

For as long as they were visible from the Johnston home, they stayed on the shore road leading south. Once they knew no one could see them, Trevor handed Sybill the two baskets. In a smooth motion, he put his hands on the fence and leapt over it. He took the baskets. Then, with his hands on her waist, he lifted her to the other side. She swayed against him. His arms tightened on her as he stared down into her face. The light of the moon showed him that this journey might be more than she could tolerate in her weakened condition. She could not travel all night.

“Can you go a bit farther, sweetheart?” he murmured into her hair.

She nodded, but did not speak as her fingers tightened on his doublet. Stooping, he picked up the baskets in one hand. With his other arm around her shoulders, he let her lean against him as they walked across the ground thick with spring growth. Gamely, she picked up her leaden feet again and again until she found a rhythm which seemed comfortable. Then her body continued on without conscious thought. If she opened her mind to anything, the pain would flow in to incapacitate her.

Overhead the stars twirled on their mysterious paths, paying no attention to the weary travelers straining to put another mile between them and the home they loved. When Trevor felt Sybill trip, his eyes swept the darkened horizon and settled on the one place where they could spend the daylight hours in safety.

He whispered encouragement. A muffled sound came from one of the baskets, and he knew Sybill was not the only one needing to rest. He pushed aside the shrubbery and led the way into a small copse. Briars pulled at their clothes, but he broke a path through, leaving the outermost bushes undisturbed.

After he cleared a space, Sybill sagged to the ground. She held up her hands, and silently he placed the basket containing the crying baby in them. He found himself staring as she undid the buttons of her bodice and put Edith to nurse. Many times he had seen women feed their children, but never his own child at the breast where his lips had found such pleasure.

“How far did we get?” she asked softly.

“Far enough.” The exact number of miles was less important than being beyond the reach of the sadistic Lord Foxbridge. “At the rate we traveled tonight, we should be at Dover within the month.”

“I will do better tomorrow night,” she vowed. “I am sorry I slowed us.”

Unpacking the bag he had slung over his shoulder, he chuckled easily. “I know you intentionally had those handsome youngsters such a short time ago just to aggravate my travel plans.” When he saw the sparkle of her smile, he added, “Now let me make this wide enough for us to sleep here comfortably. Or as comfortably as possible.”

She leaned against a tree as the child suckled contentedly. Suddenly Sybill felt a succulent sense of happiness. Even though they were far from their goal, she had with her all the ones she loved best. With one child at her breast, the other in the basket she rocked gently, and the man she adored working to create them a home, she could imagine no world more idyllic.

Trevor wrapped a blanket around her shoulders after he finished widening the space in the copse. She smiled as she nursed Alfred for the first time. Already she could see differences in the two children. Her son was quiet, Edith demanding.

When Trevor sat next to her, she saw his eyes on the child at her breast. Reaching up, she brought his mouth down to hers. A tremor of yearning swept her. It had been so long since he had been able to caress her in the way that stripped her of all sanity.

“Not exactly the way I had hoped it would be,” he said apologetically.

“It's not so bad. We have enough money to buy our way to wherever we wish to go.”

“Even to the New World?”

She glanced up at him as if he were crazy. “The New World?”

“Something Lord Foxbridge, the late one, mentioned one time. He asked me if I would want to take my family there.”

“I don't think so.” She laughed. “Everyone's courage has its limits. I don't think I could face living in such a wilderness. I'm afraid I am too much a creature of luxury. I like to have a roof over my head and not have to worry about savages attacking.”

“I agree, sweetheart. Do you think you can sleep with the branches of these trees as your roof?”

She put the child in his basket. “If you hold me, I will sleep perfectly.”

“That, my love, can be arranged easily.”

Drawing her down beneath him, his lips found hers easily in the dusk. His fingers slipped beneath her opened gown to caress her soft breast warm from his son's face against it. Eagerly he bent to taste the damp skin which nourished his love for her. As he felt her fevered reaction to the touch of his tongue against her, the answering surge of desire flowed over him. Not wanting to hurt her, he leaned back on the thick mat of undergrowth. He brought her to rest against him.

When he felt her fingers reaching to redo her dress, he laughingly batted them away. “No, sweetheart. Let me feel your warm body against me.” With his fingers on the curve of her breast, he smiled as she nestled against him. He did not know his thoughts echoed hers as he wondered what could be more wonderful.

Sunlight blared through Sybill's eyelids as she woke to the hungry cries of two babies. She picked up one. Pointing to the other basket, she said to the man slowly rising, “Hold Edith while I feed Alfred.” Peace came slowly to the small clearing. Within minutes, Alfred was finished and Edith had her turn. Sybill leaned against the tree and sighed.

“Here, sweetheart.”

She took the piece of bread Trevor handed her. Greedily she ate with the gusto of the babies. In the middle of a bite, she yawned broadly. From the height of the sun in the sky, they could not have slept more than six hours. It was almost midday.

“I thought we might go a short distance as long as we are awake,” mused Trevor as he swallowed the dry breakfast. “We are going to have to travel around their schedule. How often do they need to eat?”

Sybill grinned. “That is a peculiar question for a father.”

“I am the first to admit I have a lot to learn.” He reached across the narrow space and ruffled her leaf-strewn hair. “It will be delightful learning, my love. As soon as we get to the Low Countries, we will get married.”

“Is that where we are headed?”

Noticing the fear in her expressive eyes, he caressed her fingers. A frown wrinkled his forehead as he saw Lord Foxbridge's betrothal ring on her hand. Then he thought how much that would bring them to buy food and shelter. It would give him a certain, malicious pleasure to sell Christopher Wythe's gift to Sybill. “I have a position waiting for me in Haarlem in The Netherlands. It isn't as busy a seaport as Rotterdam, but I hope it's a better place to hide.”

“As long as we can be together. That's all that is important.”

“Perhaps someday we can come home to England.”

Buttoning her dress, she smiled courageously. “Who knows? By then, our children will be little Dutch citizens and will think of that as their home.”

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Handing him one of the baskets, she stood on tiptoe to kiss him. “I love you. Shall we go? We only have three or four hours before they will be anxious to eat again.”

Trevor picked up his bag containing the few supplies he had managed to smuggle out of the Cloister. With that over his shoulder, he broke a path through the briars until they stood in the open field. Glancing in every direction, he saw there was no one in sight. “All right, Sybill,” he called lowly. “Let's go.”

Although she was tired, she savored the sun beating down on her bare head. The aroma of spring flowers drifted on the air that teased the curls at the side of her face. Her dress rustled the supple blades of grass, damp by her feet with the last of the morning dew. It was a lovely day, and she was free of Foxbridge Cloister. A great weight had been lifted from her neck. She delighted in the lack of a yoke to drag her down into misery. A song lilted from her heart past her lips to float on the morning sunshine.

The miles were put behind them slowly. When the babies fussed, they paused in the shadows of a small wood. As the sun was setting behind them, they reached a deserted path. Sybill was pleased when Trevor said they could travel along the road for a short distance. After hours of pushing through the thick growth, it was luxurious not to have to battle her skirt every step.

“I think we should go until it is too dark to see. If we can find a deserted barn, we can stay inside tonight. From the look of the clouds, it is possible we will have rain before morning.”

She grimaced. “I don't think—” His hand on her arm silenced her. “What is it?”

As he glanced over his shoulder, she heard what he had. The heavy sound of several horses racing along the hard road reverberated through her. If Trevor called to her to run, she did not hear. Her feet already were carrying her along the road at her top speed as an exultant shout told her that their short period of fortune had ended. Closer, she heard Trevor order her to follow him. Terror added wings to her feet slapping the dirt faster than she thought she could run.

Holding a basket over his head, Trevor climbed through the thick bushes on the side of the road. Sybill dropped her basket over the hedgerow to him. When she looked beyond him, she screamed out a warning. Two of the horses had jumped the shrubs to cut off their escape. He picked up the baskets and began to race parallel to her. Despite his burden and the grass which threatened to bring him to his knees on each step, he reached the woods first. Within the trees, he paused as he waited for Sybill, whom he was sure was only a step behind him.

His eyes widened as he saw her escape had been cut off by a horseman he recognized even from a distance as Christopher Wythe. With a shout, he whirled toward them to rescue her.