Mary Blayney (36 page)

14

S
UDDENLY
Lady Olivia Pennistan was all cooperation. It was his turn for confusion. “Please tell me what I said to win your agreement. I want to remember it.”

As she leaned close to Troy, he heard Lady Olivia whisper, “Men!” Damn if that horse did not nod with more than her usual vigor. “What you said makes sense, Mr. Garrett. Once you stop trying to dictate to me and say something reasonable, I can be reasonable, too. It took my brothers years to learn that. Take me to the vicarage in Pennsford and we can tell them that I fell into the river while I was searching for mushrooms and you rescued me. Saved my life.”

“The vicar? He will support you?”

“Yes. My father and the vicar were friends. Mr. Drummond has known me forever. I have only to ask for him to help us.”

“I will trust you in this.” Michael nodded even though he had no sense of how good a judge of people Olivia Pennistan was. Though she had thought him a villain and had not been so far from wrong. “I have learned to play most any role with very little rehearsal.” He hoped that she could follow his lead if it was necessary.

“Yes, I saw that this morning, Mr. Enoch Ballthur.”

Once again she mounted the horse, settling herself more quickly this time. As he led them from the yard, Michael turned back to see if they had left anything behind. The door was closed, the chimney smokeless. The disturbed ground in the yard was the only sign of their time there, and the frequent rain would soon eliminate that.

It had been a strange interlude. He remembered others like it during the war, when the danger was all around them, but he felt the illusion of security in some small pocket of life as it should be.

The time he and Jackson had spent the night in a cave, while on a scouting mission—
reconnaissance,
the French called it. They barely spoke but both of them watched the full moon paint the landscape in black and white, drinking some local wine they had liberated. For that moment life was theirs to command.

If the last hours had been in his control, the next would be in Lady Olivia’s. The more information he could have, the less vulnerable he would feel. There was no doubt in his mind that sweet, lost Lollie’s world would have been much simpler than Lady Olivia Pennistan’s would be.

Given the differences between them, it was intriguing that there were some consistent elements. Four older brothers. A keen interest in food and the kitchen. And who in the blazes was Big Sam?

“There isn’t much color to the sky.” With Troy’s reins in hand, he led her from the yard.

“I don’t think it will rain before evening.” Lady Olivia followed his gaze, considering the white-gray sky above them.

He let his eyes linger on her face, the soft curve of her cheek, the long eyelashes framing dark green eyes. Michael jerked away with a silent curse.

At least her voice sounded almost normal now. Even the bruises on her throat had faded some. The resilience she showed could just be another kind of stubbornness. In any case it was a more admirable expression of it than her pointless obstinacy.

“With no rain or wind I would call it a beautiful day. It has been weeks since I’ve seen sunshine,” Michael added. Let them talk about the weather, it was much better than flirting. “It’s been raining endlessly in Sussex, too, in the Midlands. My whole way north. I’m surprised I’m not covered with moss.”

At least last night’s rain had come and gone quickly. The wind had eased from its gale force but had continued strong enough to dry the path so that puddles were all the wet he had to avoid.

For the first little while they counted the number of trees that were downed by the windstorm. Thank God they had found shelter. Michael was not sure they could have survived without a roof and a fire.

As they neared the main road, they had to blaze their own trail, walking around a tree that had fallen across the rough track they were using. No one was going to bring a carriage up here again, at least not before that tree was removed.

“This path was not made for a cart, much less anything bigger.” What a rough passage it must have been for her, especially bound and gagged, bouncing all over the floor.

“I remember very little of it.” She was watching the ruts as she spoke, had determined as easily as he had what they had been caused by. “I must have stayed unconscious the whole time. Which is just as well. Waking up to a rough journey in the dark to an unknown place would surely have made me sick.”

He turned away from her and smiled. There was that practical streak again. What other lady would admit something so vulgar?

There were so many signs of the storm’s damage that they stopped counting the trees. Hopefully the main road was not as filled with obstructions as this path was.

When the path joined a road, they found that the large limbs and one great tree had already been moved from the road. He turned his attention to tracking the horsemen they had been trailing. As Michael hoped, they had turned to the left, to the north, back into the Peak. Off to find the ghost that they must hope and pray was their missing captive.

Marks of carriage wheels were everywhere now, and he had no way of knowing which conveyance had carried Olivia. If he could convince her to tell him what had happened he would not need to investigate the carriage ruts any further.

“Oh, I know where we are!” She studied the trees, the path and the road. “There is a wonderful patch of blackberries not far from here.” She waved off the left. “Big Sam and I pick them every year.”

He raised his hand for silence, attuned to another sound requiring his concentration. Without a word he turned them back down the trail, far enough so the driver of the heavily laden wagon would not suspect they were there.

Olivia watched him, her face tense, as the wagon passed. A few minutes later he led Troy back out of the woods.

“I suspect this trip will take twice as long as it might. It being wisest to avoid company.”

“It’s good that we are not five miles from Pennsford,” she told him. “Even less from the castle.”

“With any luck we can be there before dark. And luck is something we are due.” He turned to her. “Which way to the vicarage, my lady?”

They headed south and within a half mile found much less evidence of the storm.

“It’s almost as though the wind spared Pennsford.”

“I saw that in Spain. There were certain places that rain seemed to favor and others that seemed to be cursed.”

They both looked back and could see signs, even at this distance, that the storm had been disastrous there and far more benign here.

“Where do we go from here, my lady?” Michael had a good idea but he wanted to distract her from what was making her bite her lip and appear so worried. Big Sam, he would wager. Any moment she was going to tell him that she had to search for him, even as Big Sam was searching for her.

He had experience in Spain on that score as well. It almost never worked. If he had to force her he would. His order, self-declared, was to see Lady Olivia safely home.

“Where we go depends on where we want to wind up.”

She was stating the obvious but he held on to his patience and listened.

“If we stay on this road we can go to either the village or the castle. There is a split after a mile or so. The left path takes us to the main thoroughfare into the village in a couple of miles, but if we want to avoid people I know a track that will lead to the vicar’s house. It is a little longer but rarely used.”

Moments later they heard another wagon climbing up the road from Pennsford.

There were not as many trees here and it took some distance before they were hidden. Fortunately the wagon moved slowly. It was a farm wagon, with a man and a woman sharing the seat. The woman was telling a story in such a loud voice that she shared it with them.

“Might be she ran away to cook for the king. Or eloped with one of the footmen. Lucy says she spends more time in the servants’ dining room than she does in a ballroom.”

“How would you know that, Chloe?” her husband shouted back. Either one or both of them was deaf. “We’ve never been to a ballroom even to mop the floor.”

“And we never will. We own our own land and that is the way it always will be.”

“Yes, m’dear. Listen to me, let’s not gossip about the girl.”

“As you wish, husband, but the gossip is so entertaining.”

Her husband answered and the last they heard of Chloe was a boisterous laugh.

Michael waited until they were out of sight before he spoke. It was both useful and a disquieting piece of information.

“To the vicar’s it is,” he said when the wagon turned a bend in the road and was finally gone. “If I do not see the track, do tell me. I think there is too much chance of discovery on this road.”

“Yes, all right.” she spoke as though she was thinking about something else entirely. She was. “That was Farmer Kinsel and his wife. Fine and friendly people. I have given her my chicken soup recipe.”

That made them allies if not friends, Michael thought.

“The way they talked. That is about what I thought would happen.” She turned in the saddle to look at him. “You are completely right, Mr. Garrett. The story will be that I am at the vicarage, and most will at least pretend they believe what the duke says.”

She nodded and seemed more matter-of-fact than upset by the gossip.

“And would their passing us not indicate that the storm did not take too great a toll around Pennsford? I have been worrying about them.”

“That’s generous of you, my lady. A tree through a roof or a road blocked by an old giant would distract most people from your absence.”

“Perhaps so, but I would prefer to live the lie we have concocted than have anyone suffer to make my life easier.”

Even more generous and just as matter-of-fact. Michael hoped that she did not lose that practical sensibility when she was faced with reality.

15

M
ICHAEL WALKED
beside Troy as they made their way back to the road. Lady Olivia studied the area again. “That place they took me to is so close to home. How did I become so lost?” She patted Troy. “I expect I was confused from the start.”

It was good that she was talking about it. From his experience that meant the shock was fading and the mind was trying to make sense of what happened.

“The whole day is very hazy. And I was even more confused by the drug. When I woke up, in the dark, all I can recall thinking was that if I ran into the woods I could hide and, when my head cleared and daylight came, I could come up with a plan.”

“When they discovered your escape, they would have gone towards the road and town to look for you.”

She nodded.

“Will you tell me what happened, Olivia? I want to be sure that our plan will work.” Was that a lie, he wondered. He knew what he was going to do regardless of what she said. Yes, definitely a lie.

“My throat is beginning to hurt again.”

“We both know that is not the truth. You sound much better after some rest.” He stopped the horse and moved to stand by her. “You will have to tell someone, sometime.”

“I wish I did not. I wish I could pretend that it never happened.” She gazed off to the side, away from him. “I was on my way to Pennsford to visit the vicar and decided that after the call I would stop by the river for some spring ferns or mushrooms.”

She flashed him a quick smile. “You see, that part is true. Does it not seem like a wise idea to put some part of the truth in the story?”

He nodded, wondering where she had learned that.

“It always worked when I was trying to spend time in the kitchen. I would tell my governess that I was concocting some lavender water to ease her headache, which was usually true. What I did not tell her was that I wanted to speak with Cook about the lamb ragout. To tell her that it would be better if she used rosemary with the fennel. The fennel was too strong a flavor; the rosemary would balance it, perhaps with some pepper to tease the tongue.”

Had she said “tease the tongue”? It was too vivid an image to ignore. “I believe we are slightly distracted.” He spoke with complete honesty.

“I would so prefer to talk of food. I could tell you exactly how to make the perfect chicken soup. It really is something that everyone should know. It is one of the few recipes that I have perfected.”

No sooner had she finished speaking when they heard the sound of a lone rider racing toward Pennsford. Olivia turned Troy without prompting and they were not quite out of sight when the man charged past. He looked neither left nor right, but was intent on the road, his speed more important than anything else. Michael watched him, and the red scarf he wore, out of sight and wondered who it was and what message he carried. Did it have anything to do with Olivia?

“Mr. Drummond usually has some greens earlier than anyone else,” she continued in a soft voice. “More often than not he forgets to harvest them. He lives with his sister. They are both too old to live alone but they will not have it any other way. I try to visit them three or four times a week—not just for the greens, mind you.”

“It’s the duke’s living?”

“Yes. The vicar is a wonderful man. He was such an eloquent speaker in his day and his sister sang with the voice of an angel. They will have the living until they go to heaven, even if Reverend Drummond must be reminded to wear a coat in the winter and Miss Hope no longer sings.”

Lady Olivia stopped talking. Troy stopped, too. Michael urged the horse to keep moving. He knew enough about questioning to understand that this sort of prelude was a victim’s way of working up courage for the hard part.

“I was hurrying home with the greens, anxious to try a new way of cooking them, when I noticed a carriage by the side of the road. One I did not recognize. Just as I was wishing that Big Sam had not stayed to help the vicar, someone grabbed me from behind, pulled a burlap sack over my head and stuffed me into the carriage.”

“It was not a very discreet kidnapping,” Michael said before he could stop himself. “On a well-used road, in plain sight. That stupidity makes it clear that they had not kidnapped anyone before.”

“Yes, I think you must be right. They were almost inept. Later on one of them almost strangled me, by accident. Now there is an epitaph.”

She did not laugh and neither did he. It was too close to the truth to be funny. Hopefully she could make a joke of it when she told her grandchildren.

“I must have fainted in the carriage.” Her words were spoken slowly, as though this was the first time she had reconsidered the event. “When I woke up I thought I was blind, then I realized my eyes were covered. I screamed for Big Sam and someone put their hand on my throat and threatened me.”

Olivia covered her mouth with her hand. She lowered her hand and with a sniff went on. “I knew I was not naked, I could feel my shift, but my stays and dress were gone. My hands were tied to the bedpost but my feet were not. When one of the men came and leaned over me, I kicked and fought him with every bit of strength I had. The man grabbed me around the throat but I would not stop because I was sure he was going to kill me. The other man made him stop strangling me. After that they gagged me.”

Olivia fell silent. Michael was not looking directly at her but would wager that she was having a difficult time controlling her tears.

“I was so afraid they were going to rape me and kill me. Until I heard the other say that they were told not to harm me.”

Troy’s steady pace set a rhythm for Lady Olivia’s story. She kept on talking as surely as the mare kept on walking.

“I thought that odd. That they kidnapped me and were told not to hurt me. It must have meant something but I could make no sense of it then.”

Did that mean she could make sense of it now?

“I prayed for a chance to escape. All the while I could hear them whispering, arguing, I think. They took the gag off, made me drink laudanum. I fell asleep, screaming. Or at least I think I was screaming.”

He wanted to reassure her, tell her that it was what he would have done, but he did not want to interrupt again. As long as he said nothing it was as though she had no audience.

“When I woke up, it was quiet except for the most unbelievable snoring I have ever heard. The ropes were loose, whether by accident or on purpose I don’t know. I fell asleep again and woke up a second time. The snoring man was still asleep. I pulled off the blindfold, but it was dark and I could not make out much.”

Michael heard the sound of the river, swollen with spring runoff. They were closer to town than he’d expected. Lady Olivia did not seem aware of it, her thoughts turned inward, her voice practical in its timbre but her eyes lost and filled with dread.

“I was not thinking very clearly but all I wanted to do was escape. So I did. Even when I tripped over something, the man never woke up. Was the other man outside or had he gone somewhere? I never saw him. It never occurred to me to find something to wear besides my shift.”

“The laudanum would have left you muzzy.”

She looked at him. “When you found me? I think I was almost dead.” The realization took her by surprise. She nodded to herself and closed her eyes as she continued. “I had decided I would go to sleep again. I hardly felt the cold and I could hear my mother singing. She’s been dead for five years.”

Silence filled the space between them. He felt water in his eyes and looked away.

“I think you must have saved my life.” There was amazement in her voice. “Thank you, Mr. Garrett. Thank you. I am sure I am not the first life you have saved, but I do not think any could have been more grateful.”

“Lady Olivia, I am sure yours is a life most worthy of saving.” He could not think of many others who had been as innocent. “You are very welcome.”

“Oh do not say I am worthy of it.” She raised a hand to her heart, her expression showing more alarm than flattery. “I will feel guilty forever if I do not live up to your hopes.”

As if he would ever know.

“To be honest, sir, all I want to do is go home, have some chicken broth and go to sleep. Would it be wrong to pretend it never happened?”

“A question for the ages, my lady. I think you must do whatever will enable you to put the incident behind you. Let your brother worry about finding the perpetrators. He will know a way to keep you safe.”

“Yes, by marrying me off to some man or insisting that I never leave Pennford or that I go to London and forget about cooking.”

What did cooking have to do with it?

“I want to beat those men to a pulp myself. But I do not and could not have the strength. Perhaps I should learn how to shoot.”

“See if you can convince one of your brothers to show you how.” As he spoke he prayed that none of them would. A woman seeking revenge was dangerous enough without a weapon.

They walked on in silence, the sound of the river making quiet conversation impossible.

“I am going to wash my feet!” She abruptly turned Troy toward a large rock and used it to dismount.

“Wait, Olivia, the water will be freezing.” Michael ran after her. “You will wind up ill.”

Either she pretended not to hear him, or the rushing water made it impossible. She put one foot into a pool created by rocks or fairies, the perfect place to wade. Gasping she put her other foot in and sloshed around for a moment, obviously uncomfortable, but equally determined to clean her feet.

Michael fully intended to grab her arm and pull her forcibly from the freezing spring melt, but the moment he was close enough she popped out of the ankle-deep water and grabbed the blanket he had in his hand.

“Dry your feet. Hurry.” He nodded at the blanket as he spoke. She was already beginning to shiver.

She stood on the claylike shale with a rock at hip height.

“Sit down.” He nodded to the rock behind her.

She did sit, most likely because he was so close to her she had no other choice.

“That was a stupid thing to do.”

With a glance of pure irritation she began to dry her feet, the speed of it convincing him she was annoyed that he was right.

As she bent her head over her task, he watched the way the sun glinted off the golden highlights of her hair. Until that moment he had thought it a rather ordinary brown, but now he realized that it was streaked with red and gold and bronze. Even unkempt and ragged, he could see the beauty of it. He reached a hand out to smooth it, but stopped himself.

Securing both his hands behind his back he watched the curls shift as she rubbed her toes with the blanket, trying to warm them. There was a mole near the nape of her neck, exactly the right spot to press a kiss if one was so inclined.

He was not.