Taken and Seduced (10 page)

A great breath of relief left her lungs.

“But we had to remain in hiding, in case there were plans to eliminate the whole family.”

“In hiding? Did you leave the country?”

“Nay, we lived with Sir Timothy in a very remote castle, away from contact with the rest of the world. We spent our days in military training, our evenings on more formal studies.”

“But…you were so young. You did not play?”

“Our toys were wooden swords and daggers. Is it not often so with boys?”

He said it almost smiling, but she thought she sensed curiosity, as if he was actually asking her. But of course he was—he was raised in a very sheltered manner. Now she knew why he had traveled so little. His guardian had been waiting for the boys to be old enough to protect themselves.

She knew that most people never traveled far in their lives. But the family of a nobleman had to move from home to home, overseeing the bailiff in charge, using up the foodstuffs so they could
be replenished. And just being with Adam, she knew he had not been raised by peasants. His speech and manner betrayed his well-educated background. He would have traveled—but the death of his parents loomed over his whole life. It still controlled him even now.

But it was good that he was talking about it, trying to release its bitter hold. Bitterness was already inside him, like a disease that held a person and never let go, only sank deeper until one couldn’t get rid of it.

“Aye,” she said at last, “boys like to mimic the heroic knights in their lives. And you had Sir Timothy to follow.”

He nodded, a small smile curling one corner of his mouth. “He is a good man, and he cared for us even though it put him in danger.”

“Did his wife act as your foster mother?”

“He had no wife.”

Robert rolled on his back and muttered, “No women at all.”

Florrie stiffened and focused on Adam’s brother. “Pardon me?”

Adam shrugged. “He chose not to marry. He said it was because he never found the right woman. As I grew older, I always worried that having to care for us made him too fearful to bring a woman into such danger.”

Although that made Florrie’s heart ache for this wonderful man she’d never met, she could not help glancing at Robert. He’d said “no women
at all” with long-suffering disappointment, as if it was about more than Sir Timothy’s lack of a bride. Was it only bitterness about not having a foster mother? But Adam had skillfully deflected her from questioning his brother, and she let it go—for now.

“You have already told me you did not travel,” she said slowly. “Now I understand why. So you only knew that castle, and the people within it.”

He nodded.

“But surely such restriction began to chafe when you grew older.”

Robert harrumphed and folded his arms over his chest. When Adam rolled his eyes, she felt amused, but the effort to smile was still too difficult. Her father’s sins were weighing heavily on her soul.

“We understood the need for caution,” Adam said firmly.

“Not me,” Robert said. “I escaped.”

Adam shot him a warning frown.

Robert came up on his elbow. “’Tis no secret that I have never understood your absolute dedication to…how we were raised. You know I admire Sir Timothy, but he was often swayed by others.”

Swayed by others? What others? Florrie wondered with fascination. She hoped in their argument, they would forget her presence.

“I did not allow you to escape for long,” Adam said dryly.

“So you were sent after him?” Florrie asked in surprise. “Sir Timothy allowed that?”

“I had seventeen years by then. Sir Timothy felt it best that I begin to prove my readiness. I was humbled that I’d earned his trust.”

This time Robert snorted and fell back on his blanket. “You always had their trust. You were the good boy.”

Their trust.
Again, he’d referred to more than one person, not just Sir Timothy. It almost sounded as if they were raised by a group of men.

“So was it dangerous chasing after your brother?” she asked almost playfully.

“Oh, dangerous,” Robert said sarcastically. “There were women everywhere.”

She covered her mouth, surprised that she’d almost laughed aloud. She liked Robert’s sense of humor.

“It could have been dangerous,” Adam said with a sigh.

He wasn’t offended by his brother, which Florrie liked to see.

“You were fifteen, Robert, and we look like our father,” Adam continued. “Who knows what trouble you could have found yourself in if you’d been recognized? Or if you’d been challenged by other boys? Thankfully, I got you away before any of that happened.”

“You got me away before the dairymaid could—” Robert broke off and glanced at Florrie.

Was that a blush staining his cheeks?

“I may have only had sisters,” she said, “but there were many boys living in our castle or in the village. Boys are definitely preoccupied with girls. My sisters sometimes could not escape them.”

“But not you?” Adam asked.

She smiled. “I was the good friend, the one boys confided in. I did not mind. Life was much more peaceful that way.”

“They wanted your help with your sisters,” he said, shaking his head.

“Aye, but they were good companions, too.”

“Like us?” Robert said, suddenly smiling again.

His moods were so mercurial, Florrie thought with exasperation. “I am not so certain good companions begin with a kidnapping, but I might be willing to overlook your flaws.”

F
or the rest of the afternoon, Adam made sure their small party wound through the Bardon Hills of Leicestershire, hoping to confuse anyone who might have picked up their trail. The Charnwood Forest flowed through hills, and he led them west for several miles through the trees, then backtracked to the south dragging branches behind them to disguise their trail.

That evening, he decided to make good on his promise to give them more protection while they slept. After dusk, they crept into a farmer’s barn, overly warmed by an ox, a mule, and several goats. Though the animals gazed at them with interest, they seemed to take no other notice. Moonlight streamed in several small windows, giving them enough light. He sent Michael and Robert out to scout their surroundings, and then they would each take turns keeping watch through the night.

Adam looked around at the small barn, with its
piles of straw below, and a loft above filled with hay. Florrie hugged herself and looked up at the loft uncertainly.

“You and I will sleep up there,” he said.

Before she could answer, they heard the sudden deep barking of a dog somewhere outside.

“Damn, the men must have strayed too close to the cottage,” Adam said in a low voice. “We have to leave at once.” He grabbed the reins of her horse and led the two animals toward the door.

But it swung open before they reached it, and Florrie caught his arm. A man carrying a torch and an ax stood there. He brandished them both menacingly. Florrie gave an exaggerated cry and flung herself against Adam, surprising him.

“Oh, I knew we could find no rest!” she cried forlornly, then began to weep with great sobs.

Though he already had a dagger hidden in his hand, Adam held her instead of defending her.

The farmer’s broad, creased face was gradually changing from fury and fear to wary curiosity. But he didn’t lower the ax.

“Who are ye and what are ye doin’ in me barn?” he demanded.

“Sir,” Adam said with hesitation, “me wife and me could afford to stop no place else for the night. I could not make her sleep outdoors again, sir, not in her condition.”

He felt her stiffen in his arms, but her weeping only lessened as if she were too exhausted to do more.

The farmer looked beyond them to their horses. “There be only…two of you?”

Just as Adam nodded, Florrie suddenly swooned, giving him enough warning to scoop her into his arms. She gave the perfect approximation of being dazed.

She looked around with incomprehension, then saw the farmer. She cringed against Adam without speaking, as if the stranger frightened her.

The farmer lowered his ax and moved from foot to foot. “I never have hurt a woman,” he grumbled. “No cause to look at me like that.”

“She means it not, sir,” Adam said. “We’ve just been travelin’ so long, tryin’ to start a new life where there’s more work.”

But that was a mistake. “A big man like ye should have no trouble,” he said, suspicious again.

Adam nodded. “Me wife cannot take the cold, sir. I hear ’tis pleasant down by the Channel, and I’m a good soldier.”

“Young fools always think the livin’ is better somewhere else,” the farmer mumbled as if to himself. He shook his head. “Well, ye better come inside and be fed, or me wife will have me head for leavin’ a girl out here.”

“Nay, sir, we could not be imposin’,” Adam said quickly. “With your kind permission, the barn will be fine on a summer’s night.”

“Get in the cottage. She’s cookin’ stew, and she’s known for the dish clear to Bosworth.”

Adam gently set Florrie on her feet. “Let me remove the saddles, sir, to ease the horses. I’ll return to see to them after your kind offer of a meal.”

Helpless to do anything else, Adam finally strode before the farmer toward the cottage. It couldn’t be much more than a single room, made of wood with clay mixed with straw in the cracks to keep out the drafts. Florrie hung on his arm.

Whispering, she said, “You forgot one thing.”

“What is that?”

“You are speaking with a common accent,” she said, “but I was never good at mimicry. I will give my origins away if I speak too much.”

“Then play shy and let your husband do the talking.”

She groaned.

“Is the mistress all right?” the farmer asked.

“Simply tired, sir,” Adam called back respectfully.

Florrie felt like the biggest fool, because people who had so little wanted to help them. The cottage was only one room with a loft above, and she could see two little faces peering down on them. The farmer’s wife stood near the fireplace, stirring a small caldron that was hung over a fire. There was a scarred table with two benches, a simple bed along one wall, and a cupboard with her cooking spread across the top. Drying herbs and vegetables hung from the ceiling beams, and Adam had to duck to miss them.

He pulled his cap from his head, still gripping Florrie’s arm. She leaned her head against his shoulder and peered at the curious woman.

“This is me wife, Mistress Ascham,” said the farmer.

Mistress Ascham was dressed in a plain, clean gown with an apron pinned to her waist and a linen cap covering her hair. She bobbed her head. “Guests,” she said, smiling. “I
thought
the dog’s bark was more excited than scared.”

Florrie couldn’t help glancing up at Adam. The dog had sounded ferocious to her. They had passed it tied up next to the front door. Though it growled, at a word from its master, it hadn’t moved.

“They’re travelers movin’ to a new town,” Master Ascham said, putting his ax on pegs in the wall and thrusting the torch into the fire. “No money for an inn.”

“Then sit at our table and share our food.” Mistress Ascham motioned to the table. “James and Jasper, come set out the bowls.”

Florrie saw that Adam didn’t try to hide his amazement as this family accepted them without suspicion. His expression came across as a man who couldn’t believe goodness might be shown them. He’d lived a guarded, protected life, where he’d obviously been taught that one should never trust strangers.

Florrie prided herself that her abilities had helped their situation. She’d always been able to
think and react quickly. What honest man could resist a frightened woman? And Adam’s idea to make her with child had been the final thing Master Ascham had needed to hear.

After she and Adam sat down side by side on a bench, she gratefully washed her hands when Mistress Ascham passed her a basin, soap, and a drying cloth. James and Jasper, two little boys of near the same age and the same sandy hair scurried back and forth from the cupboard to the table, bringing wooden bowls, spoons, two plain cups, and two tankards. She noticed that the farmer and his wife had no drinking vessels before them. Florrie realized that the Ascham boys had given their parents’ only tankards to the guests. She was feeling terrible about taking advantage of such a sweet family, and wished they could leave money, but then the Aschams would know they’d been lying. All she could do was accept the hospitality.

And watch the show that was Adam. He was a totally different person, and she guessed even less like his real self. The noble, reserved man was the one she’d been traveling with, not this jovial, overly cheerful stranger. Once again, he introduced her as Katherine, and this time he was Edmund. “Edmund” was wonderful with children, and had the little boys giggling with his stories of mistakes he’d made training his horse. The family clearly had never been able to afford the ownership of a horse, and the fact that Adam had two reduced the boys to awe.

Florrie would have loved to join in the conversation, but her “shyness” prevented it. So she kept close to Adam, eating her hot stew—such a treat!—and smiling at the Aschams.

At first, Mistress Ascham wouldn’t allow Florrie to help clean the dishes from the table, so Florrie was able to watch Adam take a broad piece of wood from near the hearth, and using his knife, carve it into the form of a horse. Though it was crude, there was an elegance to the way the neck arched that made Florrie think that with more time, the carving would be quite lifelike. Another skill she never would have suspected in her kidnapper. But perhaps, being isolated as a child, he’d had to develop his own interests.

As he carved a second horse, Adam and Master Ascham discussed Adam’s training as a soldier. Florrie was listening avidly, hoping for more of a glimpse into Adam’s world, when she saw Mistress Ascham gesture to her.

Florrie gladly came over to the cupboard, and without being asked, picked up a cloth to dry the dishes Mistress Ascham had just washed in a basin of soapy water. The farmer’s wife couldn’t be much older than Florrie. Though her husband had more years than she did, they seemed very happy together.

Mistress Ascham handed her one of the wooden cups. “So ye’re movin’ south for yer health?” she said softly.

“Aye, mistress,” Florrie said, then could have bitten her tongue. She’d already had to answer questions several times at dinner, and her speech was stilted from concentrating so hard at sounding common.

“Ye’re sure ye did not run away because of the babe?” the woman asked kindly.

Florrie tried to speak with hesitation, even as her blush betrayed her unease. “Nay, mistress, Edmund says there’s more soldierin’ near London. He could become a knight with his skill and hard work.”

“Me thinks he was once beneath you—milady?” Mistress Ascham still spoke kindly. “Ye cannot quite hide yer upbringin’.”

Florrie bit her lip. If anyone following them questioned these people, they’d know exactly who she and Adam were. She had to trust in the Aschams. “Mistress, please, say nothing. I love him so, and we want to be happy together.”

“I know, I know,” the woman said on a sigh, passing over a wooden platter to be dried. “’Tis very obvious ye care for each other.”

It was?
Florrie thought with a mixture of surprise and unease. Surely it was all because of Adam’s skill at pretending.

Before they could speak more, Master Ascham sent the boys with their new toys up to the loft and offered his own bed to the guests.

Florrie stared wide-eyed up at Adam, who put his arm around her even as he spoke. “That will
not do, sir. I cannot drive ye from your bed. The loft in the barn will do us fine on a summer’s night.” When the farmer tried to protest, Adam held up a hand. “Ye cannot change me mind.”

They were given plenty of blankets, and a lantern made of etched horn to light their way. As they walked across the dark yard, leaving the growling dog behind, Florrie let out a loud sigh and clung to Adam’s arm for real.

As they reached the barn’s interior and shut the door, he peered at her. “You are bothered by something?”

“Bothered?” she echoed in disbelief. “Why should it bother me to lie to two nice people?” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Mistress Ascham thinks I am born noble, and that you are a common soldier I fell in love with, and that’s why we are running.”

“Oh,” he said, setting the horn on a table near the ox’s stall. “A plausible reason.”

“But if anyone questions them about us, and it comes out that I am a noblewoman—”

“A noblewoman in love,” Adam interrupted. “You were convincing enough.”

“I thought
you
were,” she said stiffly.

“My thanks.”

He grinned, and in that moment, she saw even more of a resemblance to his brother.

His amusement faded, and he said with intent, “You have done well this night. You think very quickly.”

The swelling of pride she felt at his words gave her a moment’s unease. She should not want to please him so much. She changed the subject. “What about Robert and Michael?”

“I am certain they saw what happened, and the result. They will keep watch on our surroundings and make their own camp nearby.”

She almost felt guilty for being under shelter when they were not, but she silently chastised herself.

“Can you climb into the loft without my assistance?” he asked. “I will feed and groom the horses.”

She frowned at him. “I may be crippled, but I was a champion at climbing trees.”

“You are not crippled,” he said.

He spoke with enough force that she raised an eyebrow. He turned away too quickly and went to the horses.

Florrie was already snug beneath blankets in the loft by the time Adam climbed up, carrying the lantern. With their blankets, and the heat rising up from the animals below, she knew that they didn’t need each other for warmth. Adam must have had the same realization, because he laid out his blankets several feet from her, then blew out the lamp. Slivers of moonlight showed her that he lay with his hands behind his head as he looked up at the ceiling.

“Today you told me about your childhood,” Florrie murmured, lying on her side as if she could
see his expressions in the dark. “But you really never said how you felt about it.”

“Felt?” he echoed, seeming confused. “It was what it was. I was grateful. What more needs be said?”

“You were not angry or confused?”

“I probably experienced every emotion when I was young and immature, but I do not dwell on it now. What is the point?”

“But…talking can make you feel better.”

“I disagree. Talking makes one remember, rather than leaving it in the past.”

“Where it can fester. Obviously your resentment against my father has only grown.”

“Of course it has. He committed a crime and has not been punished. I need justice.”

“Or vengeance,” she said softly, sadly.

“If so, ’tis my right. Is this a female thing?”

“What?” she asked in confusion.

“Talking about feelings.”

“I forgot—Robert did hint that you saw few women.”

He said nothing, leaving her even more curious.

“Talking resolves problems,” she said.

“Not this one. The only talking I will do to your father will be offering a challenge.”

“But if you talked—”

“What would be accomplished?” he demanded, sounding even more irritable. “This is a man who killed two unarmed people—one of them a
woman. There can be no resolution without justice. If you are trying to save him from me—”

“I am not!” she insisted. How could she tell Adam that she wanted to save
him
? “Women are creatures who believe talking helps to resolve emotions. For instance, I can say all I want that my father will not be coerced in any way by you having me under your control. I am not important enough to him.”