The Raven's Revenge (11 page)

Nicholas rose and lit the lamp. He retrieved the paper, pen, and ink he had procured earlier, and sat at the table. Carefully trimming the end of the quill, he let his fingers run up and down the feather. As he smoothed the strands back together, he thought about his conversation with Katherine.

Wife.

He had no use for a wife, nor did he wish one. Were he to pick a wife, it would be someone with fire and wit, not a somber lass like Katherine.

Yet, it was such a simple and obvious solution. If he married Katherine and got her with a son, the only thing to prevent him from getting back Ashfield would be if Gerald Welles remarried and got himself a son.

Would the man do that?

If he did, Nicholas could still pursue his petition with the King. Even though Charles avoided making any decision he could put off, he had restored some estates to their rightful owners.

Nicholas dipped the pen into the ink. There would be no hurrying the King, but he could threaten Gerald Welles with the petition. Though the man held little love for his daughter, he had great respect for his purse, and would not like the possibility of losing both. 

A slight stirring came from the bed. Nicholas froze. Casting a look over his shoulder, he could not see Katherine in the shadows, but a light snore indicated she had settled back to sleep.

He let out a breath.

Katherine did not want to be heiress to Ashfield, so he would fix that for her. Perhaps it would be a bit like buying and selling her, but was it his fault women were bought and sold? No more than it had been his fault when he had been bought and sold in the slave markets.

He would simply do what opportunity offered.

He had to.

Keeping his back to Katherine, he began to write.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“COME IN.”

The massive door inched open, and a short stocky man sidled into the room. He inched across the long carpet to stand patiently before a large table, feet planted wide. With strong stubby fingers, he pulled off his hat.

Richard Finch looked up from his work, but did not smile.

“What news have you, Jakes?” Knowing Welles was not to be trusted, he’d not waited for word. The man was an idiot and a liar who had what Finch wanted, which was not the man’s daughter. Finch wanted Ashfield, and she was the key.

“Well, yer Lordship, I sent word to the informers just like ye said.”

“And?” Richard prodded, regretting that conversations with Jakes always ran like this—a series of questions necessitated by incomplete answers. Yet the man did make up for his stupidity by his tenacious loyalty, unsurpassed dependability, and a complete lack of scruples.

“She’s been seen, she has. On the Salisbury road.”

“Good work. Bring her back.” Richard waved him off, but Jakes made no motion to leave. Instead, he frowned at the ground, twisting his hat.

“Out with it, man. What else have you to say?”

Jakes cleared his throat and blinked his bulbous eyes. “She were with three men.”

“Three men!” The words hit the back wall like a gunshot. Finch rose from his chair. “You are sure of this?”

Jakes nodded, although his face remained impassive. His hands calmed.

“And?” Richard picked up a letter knife and balanced the flat side on the tip of his forefinger. “Who were they?”

Jakes frowned, making deep furrows in his forehead. “A lad of mayhap eighteen. My man thought it might be Jeremy Haywood. But he did not know t’other two.”

Jeremy Haywood? Was this a romantic assignation? But that did not explain the other two men. “Did he tell you what they looked like?”

“The man she rode with was big with black hair, and white in it. Like this,” with one hand he drew a line from the top of his head down over his left ear. “T’other man, his hair be gray, and him older.” He cleared his throat again. “My man, he thought, well, the first man was quality, an’ the second man his servant.”

Richard leaned back in his chair and began to clean and pare his nails with the letter knife.

Three men. That changed the situation significantly. Marrying Katherine was fast becoming much more of a challenge than he expected. He had not known she had this kind of pluck. Catching her was becoming more appealing. Once he had her, he’d have to punish her, of course. How long it would take her to plead for him to stop? He grew hard just from the thought of it.

“Well, Jakes,” Finch held the knife by both ends, running his thumbs over the sharp edge, “I think ‘twould be best if I accompany you to Salisbury.”

Jakes nodded and twisted his hat.

* * *

Sunlight streamed through the small window, landing in a warm pool on Katherine’s face. She yawned and stretched all the way from her toes to the top of her head. Opening her eyes, she gasped at the unfamiliar surroundings, and then memory came back in a rush. Sitting up, she clasped the blanket to her bosom. Her heart hammered as she looked around the room.

Where could Nicholas be? Had he gone? Left her?

And where was Montford?

“Kitty, kitty, kitty?” But there was no response, no thump from a cat jumping up on the bed.

Katherine looked at her hands, clutching the counterpane to her fully clothed body. Shaking her head at this silly show of modesty, she threw off the covers and got out of bed. She looked everywhere, but found no trace of the cat. As she searched, the conviction grew that wherever she found Nicholas, she would find Montford as well.

She quickly donned her stays and petticoats, noting with exasperation that the black dress she’d slept in had become a wrinkled mess, another reason to hate the ugly gown. No doubt she looked like a scullery maid. Regretting the loss of her hairpins, she twisted her unruly hair into a coil and jammed on her cap, then shoved on her stockings and shoes. One last survey of the room showed Montford had not materialized.

Flinging open the door, she stopped short. Nicholas stood—hand poised to knock—blocking her exit.

Katherine stepped back in surprise.

Clean-shaven, dressed in a turquoise brocaded waistcoat and full-cut fawn breeches that tied below each knee with a red sash, Nicholas looked quite magnificent. The sleeves of his white shirt ended in flounces that danced with his hands as he bowed. A lace-trimmed cravat graced his neck. Black leather shoes with red heels and ribbon ties had replaced his boots. His hair, no longer pulled back tightly, hung in loose curls, giving him a less severe, more carefree look. He carried a bundle in one hand and a basket in the other.

“What have you done with Montford?” she demanded.

In answer, a loud “meow” came from inside the basket.

“As you hear, your cat is safe. And our journey will be much easier with him secure in this basket.” Nicholas strode into the room, kicking the door shut. No sooner had he placed the basket on the table, than Montford hopped out. Nicholas chuckled. “Of course, we’ll have to tie the latch to keep him inside.”

“’Tis a prison,” she sniffed. “And Montford is a girl.”

“Really?” He registered surprise. But, just because Montford was his name—and the name of every male heir in the family for the past three centuries—why should the cat be a boy? Nicholas swallowed a laugh after catching Katherine’s stern expression. She fingered the basket while chewing on her lip, and he remembered her other concern. “’Tis not a prison; the basket will keep your cat safe.” Then he pushed forward the bundle. “And this, lass, is for you.” He unfolded the package and revealed a peach silk and lace bodice, with matching skirt and petticoat.

During the long ride, Nicholas had imagined what Katherine would look like in fashionable clothing instead of the dour dress she wore. He’d envisioned golden satin to highlight her tawny eyes, a low cut bodice to show her bust to advantage. He had not been able to find that combination—in truth he had not looked—but a dealer in used goods had displayed these garments. They had caught Nicholas’s eye, and the bargaining had been pleasant.

Katherine reached out a hand and then snatched it back without touching the fabric. She shook her head. “No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I cannot accept this.”

Didn’t women like gifts of pretty things? But, Katherine was not like the women of his acquaintance. “You must,” he said reasonably.

“I cannot.” Her eyes lingered on the rich garments.

“Katherine, lass,” his voice softened. He sounded like someone speaking to a young child. “They will be looking for a Puritan, in plain garb. So you must look like a Cavalier lady. And truly, ’tis not so fancy. See it not as clothing,” he coaxed, “but as a disguise.”

Her lips pursed as she scrutinized the garments, from the décolleté bodice to the water-stained skirt. He could see that in spite of herself, she wanted them.

“I’m sorry ’tis not new,” he fingered the hem. “We haven’t time to wait for them to be made.”

“I’ve never dressed like…like…”

“Like a Lady?”

A smile appeared on Katherine’s face, as if rays of sunshine peaked out from behind clouds. “Like a bird.”

He smiled at her attempt at humor. “Afraid the cat will catch you?”

She shook her head, serious again and eyed the clothing longingly. “Maybe they will not fit.”

“Oh, I think they will. Perhaps the skirt is a bit long. You must put it on, and we shall see.” He pushed the garments toward her. “There is much to prepare for our departure. I shall return shortly with our morning repast.”

She ran a fingertip over the shiny fabric. “I had thought we’d be on the road well before now.”

“And we would be, had it not been for last night’s rain. The roads have turned to mud. ’Twas either wait for the sun to dry them, or get bogged down in the muck. Besides,” he grinned, “you looked so charming in sleep, I had not the heart to wake you.”

Katherine turned away. A hot flush ran up her neck. She did not like to think of him watching her while she slept. “Time is passing,” she said, an edge to her voice.

“Then I leave you, lass. But do not tarry, we must be on the road to Winchester soon, if we are to arrive before nightfall.”

As soon as she heard the door close, Katherine picked up the skirt. Fingering the folds of lustrous fabric, she watched the color change in the light.

She had never worn anything so fine, so pretty. So…revealing. 

Nicholas had mistaken her hesitance to wear the dress for aversion. But nothing could be further from the truth. She had only hoped to wear a garment of such beautiful color with such lovely bits of lace at the bodice, never believing it to be possible.

Katherine eagerly worked the fastenings of her black dress and stepped out of the ugly garment. Despite her haste, she folded it carefully and put it aside. Raising the new petticoat over her head, she marveled at the feel of the cool silky fabric sliding down her body. Nicholas had been right about the length. The hem ended in a puddle at her feet. She rolled it up at the middle before tying it tight and then put on the skirt. The bodice fit properly and fell into a “V” below her waist. She peered at her bosom. The neckline seemed impossibly low. Indecently low. She pulled at the top of her smock, but it made no difference.

And no matter how she tried, she could not fasten the bodice in the back. Without a maid to help, she’d barely managed her stays that morning, which added to the problem.

Katherine chewed on her lower lip. She had not brought a shawl or any kind of cover-up. Instead, she’d brought her herb journals. At the time, it had seemed the right thing to do. But, she could not wear the books. She let out an exasperated sigh just as she heard a sharp rap on the door.

In the hallway, Nicholas balanced a food-laden tray on one hand, while he knocked on the door with the other. What took her so long? Mayhap she had not finished dressing. Women could take a very long time to accomplish such a simple task. But then he heard footsteps approach, and the door flew open. Katherine stood to one side. She looked at him warily. From what he could see, the garments fit her well, and the color looked pleasing on her fair skin. Of course, it would look nicer without the ugly cap that hid her silky hair.

And the cat she wore as a modesty piece across her breast.

“I like it very much,” he said, trying hard not to laugh as he put the tray down on the table.

She backed toward the fireplace. “I could not manage without my maid. Could you please send a serving-woman to attend me?”

“I shall assist you.”

“Oh no,” she squeaked. A becoming flush colored her cheeks.

“’Twill take just a moment. Then we can eat and be gone the sooner.”

She looked away then turned her back to him.

Nicholas smiled. Though he preferred to undress a woman, he also liked dressing one, when her smooth skin and tender flesh settled into the confines of whalebone and lace. He tugged the strings, tightening them with ease, savoring the smell of lavender and woman that was Katherine. Smoothing the fabric, he let her go.

They sat down at the table and ate in haste. Katherine juggled the cat in one hand and her food in the other, barely managing to keep the cat and the food apart. Nicholas found their antics amusing and could not tell who got the bigger meal, Katherine or Montford.

Soon they were on their way downstairs to the stables, Montford, now latched into the basket, and the pretty vision of Katherine in her new dress covered by her drab cloak, ruining the disguise completely.

* * *

The rain had left the air crisp and—just as Nicholas had said—the ground a muddy mess. Katherine wished she had her pattens to keep her feet above the muck as she walked across the courtyard on tiptoe, her skirt carried high to keep the hem out of the mud.

Jeremy had the mounts ready. Nicholas tied her bundles onto the back of their horse, and they were off.

The going was slow. The roads, what could be seen of them, had turned to a deep quagmire, making the horses skittish. After leaving Salisbury, they’d not even seen a signpost, and Katherine realized how impossible traveling on foot would have been under these conditions.

After following a set of barely visible carriage tracks, they’d been dismayed to see them disappear into several inches of standing water. They’d coaxed their balking mounts through the sludge, yet had not discovered a trail at the other side.