Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (13 page)

“Shhh.” Roane anchored his arm around her and dragged her back against his chest. He threw his leg over her hip and she was warm
everywhere
.

“Sleep,” he whispered, his voice husky.

As if she could rest now.

Helen tried to shift again, but Roane’s leg was surprisingly heavy. She lay back, annoyed at his presumptuousness.

And fell asleep.

***

R
OANE WOKE FIRST
, not that he’d really slept. Not with the men chasing them—immediate danger did have a way of keeping a man awake. As did the soft, sweet-smelling female pressed up against him. Her back was curled against his chest, her arse nestled up against groin. Were she awake, she’d feel exactly how hard the night had been for him.

He slid his hand up the curve of her side, wanting to continue the kiss they’d started last night. He’d been a fool to stop it. She’d
asked
him to kiss her; he needn’t have been so chivalrous about it.

He could kiss her again, right now. Roll her onto her back and slip her skirts up her thighs. He would wager her thighs were shapely, perfect for a man’s touch. In fact, he’d take that dress right off her, see her naked in the morning light.

But she’d been scared last night, and he’d be a cad to press her. He needed to bide his time with her, let her come to him when she was ready.

With a curse, he slipped out of the covers and went down to the cold stream. The water was a shock to his skin, but did nothing to dampen the desire raging through him. He’d almost uncovered Helen’s luscious breasts last night. And almost wasn’t nearly naked enough.

In the end he splashed so much water on himself, trying to cool off, he was dripping wet and miserable when he returned to camp. Helen was still sleeping, and he took pains not to wake her. He hated to leave her alone, but he needed to ride out and check the area for tracks.

Quietly he saddled Zeus and headed out into the misty morning. He gave the gelding his head, and they flew as one to the top of the valley and across the moorland. So many times he’d done this in the past—slipped out of his hiding hole at first light and rode like the wind through the hills.

Instinct told him to ride east, where the flatter, more direct paths lay. The robbers would have overheard him tell Helen the map was of the Pennines, and they would know to go north.

About three miles northeast of camp, he spotted tracks in the mud. Three well-shod, gaited horses had passed through the day before, moving north at a fast pace. Roane dismounted and followed the prints a few yards, disquiet settling in his bones. Of course these could be any three riders, but the tracks were similar to the one’s he’d spotted the first night. Too similar. He withdrew his pencil and journal from his cloak pocket and traced the prints for future comparison.

In the past, he might follow the tracks to spy on the men and glean information. But it was too dangerous with Helen, and he hadn’t time to play hide-and-seek with the robbers anyway. He needed to get to the gold and get to Stamford within the fortnight.

He climbed atop Zeus and rode back toward Helen. The men were ahead of them, that was hardly a surprise, but they were too close for comfort. He would need to be extra cautious over the next few days, to choose his routes with care and keep Helen close.

The thought of her alone and unprotected made him urge Zeus on faster. He couldn’t even consider what the men would do to such a lovely creature if they found her.

His jaw ached with tension when he finally slipped back into camp. He was relieved to find his sleeping princess awake and safe, poking at the fire, her hair a wild mess about her head.

She had the appearance of a woman who’d been tumbled and satisfied by someone in the night.

He’d damn well like to be that someone.

“Good morning,” she said when she saw him. “I was hoping we might make some coffee.”

“Ah, I’ve corrupted you already.” He smiled. He would keep her safe. It was not a question.

“You are a terrible influence, that was never in doubt.” She made a face at him and limped across the clearing to the fallen log where she liked to sit.

“The soreness will go away in a few days. Or I could offer you a rubdown.” He waggled his brows.

“You are incorrigible.”

“Completely.” He stoked the flames and put the kettle on the fire. “But, in all seriousness, we need to make better time today. We’ve a Castle to see and a mountain pass to traverse.”

She looked over at her mount chomping on grass nearby. Her expression lacked the frozen fear he’d seen more than once yesterday. “A mountain pass?”

“’Tisn’t terribly steep.”

“Steep is steep, terrible or not.”

“What happened to make you fear horses?” She needed to get over her anxiety if they were going to find the gold before Michaelmas.

She peeked at him from under her lashes. “You could tell?”

He snorted. Yes, he could tell. “You looked positively green. I thought for sure you wouldn’t last through the full day.”

“Sixteen thousand pounds rather motivates one.”

“Yes,” he agreed, thinking of the tracks he’s seen earlier. “It does.”

She brushed out her hair with her fingers. “To be honest, I wasn’t always afraid of horses. I begged my father for a pony as a girl and loved that animal more than anything. I must have been fourteen or so when I last rode. I was one of those who fell off and never got back on.”

But she’d persisted yesterday, when he’d tested her on the cliff. Hers was an odd sort of bravery, but there all the same. “Did you fall off your pony?”

“Good heavens, no.” She laughed at the thought and shook her head, her blonde hair sparkling in the morning sun. “She was a rather large mare. I was trying to keep up with Harry and James. We launched over a dry stream, and I fell upon landing. I wasn’t injured, but I was bruised and terribly scared. My brothers were not suitably worried and of no help.”

“Brothers seldom are.” Roane would know. He’d placed his own sister in a dangerous situation and not been suitably worried. He supposed Mazie had insisted on helping him as the Midnight Rider, but once the magistrate had captured her, he should have stopped his activities. Instead, he’d gambled on horses in Ascot (and won the sixteen thousand in question), had led the Bow Street Runners on a merry chase, and had held a clergyman at gunpoint. A
corrupt
clergyman, but a clergyman nonetheless. He’d only put Mazie in greater danger with his actions.

With a rustle of leaves, Mittens came charging out of the undergrowth, half running and half hopping. Helen scooped him up in her arms. “Where is your mama, little one? A kitty needs a mother.”

Everyone needs a mother.
“Maybe his mother died.”

Helen looked up and scowled. “What a thing to say. Maybe she was hurt.”

“Or eaten by a fox.”

“Shh.” Helen covered Mitten’s ears, as if he could understand. “Why must you be so heartless?”

“About a wee lost kitten?” Roane shrugged. He didn’t feel particularly heartless; he was simply speaking the truth. Sometimes, mothers became deathly ill and left their infant sons behind to fend for themselves. And sometimes older brothers did not suitably protect their younger sisters. This was an inherently vulnerable world. One learned to move on.

Helen worried her lower lip and looked around the clearing. Her gaze fell on the small wicker basket he’d emptied for the fish last night. Mittens tucked against her elbow, she picked it up.

Roane did not like where this was going. Before she had a chance to say anything more, he cut her off. “No.”

“But—”

“Definitely not.” She was not putting that kitten in his basket and strapping it to a horse.

“He will—”

“It’s not my problem.”

“I can’t—”

“You must.”

“I won’t.”

“You will.”

Helen wrapped both arms protectively around Mittens. “I am not going without my kitty.”

“You are not—” Roane ran his hand through his hair, tugging it from the roots.

“We do not have time to worry over a kitten, Helen. There is
gold
to be found. Thousands and thousands of pounds worth of
gold
.” And dangerous men riding north. And his future at risk.

She turned and walked away, kitten and basket still in hand, as if he’d not spoken.

He shook his head at her back. “You cannot put a kitten on a horse.”

“Oh no?” Helen circled the campsite, picking up dried leaves and moss and placing them in the empty basket. Then she put the kitty inside as well. “Perfect.”

Meow! Meow! Meow!
The lid to the basket bumped open.

“It does not seem your Mittens likes his new home.”

“He will.” Helen bent down and whispered to the basket. “Quiet down or you will stay here to be eaten by the foxes and owls.”

Meow!

“He listens about as well as you do, I see.”

Helen shot him a look. The basket wobbled as if the kitty were throwing himself from side to side, seeking escape. She held it firmly in two hands and marched toward her horse. Starlight looked at the meowing basket with the same disdain Roane felt. “You wont even know he is here,” she told the horse.

It took some effort, but finally she secured the basket to the side of the saddle. Unlike her late reticule, she made certain the basket would not swing. “I will leave him as soon as we find a safe spot. The nearest barn.”

“Bloody foolish
princess
,” Roane mumbled under his breath.

“Pardon?” Helen asked sweetly. “I did not hear you.”

“I was just saying I hope your kitty enjoys horses.” Roane stomped off to break camp. In a matter of minutes, they’d gulped down their coffee and were on the trail north.

The kitty meowed balefully all day.

G
REEN HILLS ROLLED OUT BEFORE HIM
like waves in the sea, extending to the horizon in each direction. Overhead, towering clouds raced west and cast wavering shadows on the world beneath. Roane relaxed back in his saddle and drank it all in. He loved this swath of trail, had traversed it many times. Up here, on the Great Ridge, one felt as much part of the sky as part of the hills below.

It fit him, this sense of being in two worlds, loving the sky and loving the earth. For he was a man of two worlds himself—never quite belonging in one, never quite sure of the other. He was at home here in the mountains, as much as he was at home anywhere.

He supposed some would say his home had been with his Aunt Pearl. His mother died when he was a baby, leaving him an orphan on his father’s estate—if one could call the man a father. The
gentleman
had made no claim on his bastard son and was content to let Roane sleep on a pallet before the hearth like a dog. But when his Aunt Pearl finally found him, she treated him like her own son, secured a cottage on his father’s estate where they might be safe, fed him in body and mind, and
loved
him. And he had loved her, there was no doubt in that. His half-sister, four years his junior, had snuck out from the main house and come to visit as often as she could. Though their father discouraged their alliance, they shared a bond only siblings could, fraught with teasing and jealousy and unconditional love.

Roane was grateful for all his aunt had done for him, beyond grateful truly, but her cramped cottages and dusty knickknacks had felt more like a resting place than a true home for the wild boy he’d been. And his sister had always returned to her life of privilege—a life that had no place for a bastard-stable hand-half-brother.

These hills had called to him.

These hills had welcomed him, just as he was. Had given him a place to feel wild and free and
enough
.

Soon, he would have a new home, with his own green valleys and sparkling streams to explore. He’d build a barn to house his prized horses and turn the fields into emerald pastureland. His future was so close he could taste it in the wind.

Mittens meowed mournfully behind him, breaking into his thoughts. Roane rubbed his temple, wishing Helen would let the wee kitten go. The poor thing’s wailing was making his head ache.

He dropped his hand and watched Helen approach. She was studiously
not
looking at the open view before them. This mountain pass did not suit her, but she was keeping a better pace today.

“See that?” He pointed when she stopped behind him, keeping her mount far from the edge. “The castle, there, on the crag above town? I’ve always had a fondness for that castle.”

She squinted in the distance. “Because of its handsome and rugged power?”

Roane laughed. “Now what would make you say that? Could it be you think
I
am handsome?”

“I’m exhausted. I don’t know what I am saying.”

She didn’t appear exhausted, not as she had yesterday. Her cheeks were pink from what he suspected was a blush and her eyes were bright. “The castle was built by the illegitimate son of William the Conqueror.”

Helen looked at him dubiously.

He grinned, more out of habit than amusement. “I am a bastard myself, you know.”