Naughty in Nottinghamshire 02 - The Rogue Returns (14 page)

“I could have told you that,” she said smartly, but he saw something else in her eyes. Judgment? Sympathy? God, he hoped it wasn’t that. He’d rather she judge him than feel sorry for him

“Behind the castle there is a network of caves famous for the rope workers that lived there.” The clouds were moving faster now, sending great big splashes of shadow onto the valley below. One such shadow passed over them and Roane felt the coolness on his skin. It would rain soon. Best they move off this hilltop. But he didn’t want to rush. He wasn’t ready to go yet. “Their specialty was the Hangman’s Noose.”

She made a face. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am.” And he was. It hadn’t escaped his notice that the only use for a bastard’s castle was to make a weapon of torture in the dark caves.

The world had no use for a son without a father.

He’d learned this before he could walk.

Another dark cloud raced overhead, and Roane decided it was time to go. He let Zeus pick his way along the narrow pass. They headed east to Hollins Cross, then turned toward Edale. The north-facing hillside was cooler, with damper vegetation, and more herbs and woodland plants than flowers. Roane could practically hear Helen’s relief as they rode off the ridge and away from the windy mountaintop.

They were halfway to the valley floor when a light rain began to fall. Mittens did
not
like being wet, and his incessant meowing scraped across Roane’s nerves.

“I think Mittens would enjoy a midday break,” Helen called.

“I think Mittens would enjoy being free.” Roane glanced around. “This seems like a lovely, safe place to leave a kitten.”

“We cannot.” Helen protested. “He is so young. Nearly a baby still.”

“I’m sure he’d rather be free than cooped up in your basket.”

“Better a few days in my basket and a nice long life in a warm barn than being dinner for a fox.”

Roane pulled his hat low over his eyes to ward off the worst of the rain. “Maybe the fox has babies to feed, Helen. Such is the circle of life.”

“I cannot believe you would be so heartless.”

“I told you, I am not a good man.”

“I think there is more sweetness in you than you like to show. I saw how you cuddled him last night.”

He pulled his horse to a stop and waited for Helen to come alongside him. “Have you ever been held captive, Helen?”

“Isn’t every female a captive of some sort?”

“I am talking about hunger. Filth. Fear. Not silken ties and broken dreams.”

She glanced down at the mewling basket, a line of worry between her eyes. “No.”

“Once one has the experience of being held in a dark, small space, one cannot do the same to another being, animal or human.”

She looked like she wanted to ask him something. Her mouth formed words, but he didn’t want to know what they would be.

This was not a part of his life he wanted to talk about. He wasn’t sure why he’d brought it up to begin with.

Silence settled, with only the gentle patter of the passing shower falling on the green things around them. Helen turned in her saddle and unlocked the lid to Mitten’s basket. “He’s asleep.”

Roane didn’t answer. He’d said too much as it was. He needed to leave his past where it belonged—behind him. That part of his life was over.

But something about Helen made him want to open his mouth and jabber away. And that foolishness could lead to nothing but trouble.

The less she knew about him, the better. For both their sakes.

R
OANE LET HELEN SET A SLOWER PACE
, but they rode all day, not stopping until they’d crossed the high plateau of Kinder Scout. Luckily dusk came late this time of year, for they needed all the hours in the day they could get. From what he could decipher of the map, Roane estimated the gold was still another hundred miles away.

At this pace, it would take them four or five days to collect the treasure. Then, another day or two to find Helen an escort and private coach and see her off to London. If nothing else went wrong, he’d
just
make it to Stamford before the land auction.

He did not like the odds.

Helen devoured her simple dinner and fell asleep before Roane had finished tending to the horses. He finished his chores in the dark and sat beside the cooling embers of their small fire, keeping watch until the blackest hours of night. Finally, exhaustion overcame him and he lay down in his bedroll, knowing from experience he needed to balance vigilance with rest.

But he did not sleep the deep sleep of the peaceful, hadn’t for years. So, as the footsteps inched toward camp, he was instantly awake, his mind clear, his pistol in hand. The faint rustling came from the east. Only one set of footsteps. Whoever was approaching was alone, but others could be nearby.

Moving quietly, Roane rolled over, careful to avoid Mittens sleeping at his feet, and laid his hand across Helen’s mouth. Her eyes popped open and she struggled to sit up. Silently, he shook his head.

“Quiet,” he mouthed.

Meow
, said Mittens.

Roane slipped out of his bedroll and put himself and his pistol between Helen and the intruder. Blood pumped through him, filling his muscles, making his thoughts alert and sharp. He was ready for action, ready to fight. He could bloody well see in the dark, he was so awake.

Behind him, Helen must have grabbed the kitten because Mittens let out a mewling protest. Roane shook his head again. “Hidden,” he whispered, not daring to turn and look at her. Christ, she was so vulnerable, all tender sensibilities and a bloody kitten in her arms. Fabric rustled as she tucked herself into her bedroll. He could only hope she’d listen to him and not try to interfere.

Silence settled once again, but it was a fraught silence. The sound of a blade lifting before it fell.

To Roane’s left, the long shadow of a rifle, and then the form of a man appeared in the dim light of the clearing.

“Who goes there?” Roane lifted his own pistol. It could be anyone. The robbers following them. A band of thieves. Anyone with intent to harm or not. Whoever it was, they’d met their match in him.

“I’m the keeper of this land. We don’ take kindly to trespassers.” The man stepped further into the clearing, his rifle pointed at Roane’s heart. He wore the garb of a gamekeeper —simple and well-kempt. His gun was an expensive-looking hunting rifle.

Bloody wonderful.

Moving slowly, Roane lowered his pistol to the earth. This was not the fight he was looking for. A gamekeeper was greatly protected by the law. And the best way to keep Helen safe was to use words rather than might. “My humblest apologies, sir. We’ll leave at once.”

“What’s yer business? You in trouble?”

“No sir. My brother and I are just passing through on our way north.”

“Yer brother? Where is he?”

“Sleeping off his drink. He’s dead to the world.” Roane hoped Helen would take the hint and not move.

“Going north, eh? What kind of business?”

“Family matters, we—”

Meow
.

Roane talked louder, over the sound of the cat. “We are looking for something our eldest brother left before he died.”

Meow
.

“Is that a cat?”

Before Roane could answer, the man poked Helen’s bedroll with his boot.

“Ooaaf.” She let out a very ladylike grunt, nothing at all like the drunken lout she was supposed to be.

“Come on out, then,” the man insisted.

Helen pulled the covers back. The gamekeeper took a good long look at her, and she smiled up at him.

“She ain’t no brother.”

Roane groaned inwardly. “No, sir.”

“Yer a liar, then.”

“Bribe him,” Helen whispered.

Roane shot her a look, willing her to be silent. Willing her to trust him.

“What’s that?” the man asked. “You ain’t a liar?”

“No sir. I mean yes, sir.”

Helen couldn’t stay quiet. She scrambled to her feet. “Please, sir, there has been some kind of misunderstanding—”

“Quiet.” The gamekeeper turned his rifle toward Helen and Roane saw red. His muscles itched to
fight
, but he could not risk the possibility the rifle would discharge.

Helen bit her lip. Roane could
see
the effort it took her to say nothing more.

He stepped between Helen and the gun, his hands in the air. If he harmed the gamekeeper, the law stated he could be deported, or worse, hanged. His only option was to talk his way out of this. “We will pack up and be on our way at once. You’ll hardly know we were ever here.”

The man narrowed his eyes. “Maybe ye’ve been up to trouble. I ain’t letting you go till I know.”

Roane forced a smile. “Fair enough. We can—”

“You’ve already lied to me once. Maybe I should send for the magistrate. He can hold you while I see if you’ve been poaching on my land.”

God’s teeth, the last thing he wanted was to be held by the magistrate. Who knew what crimes the lawman would charge him with. No, he needed to deal with the gamekeeper, convince the man to let them go without a struggle.

Roane glanced at Helen, willing her
not
to ruin this for him. Relying on his instincts, he rolled into his familiar act. “I’ve an idea, good sir. We truly are honored to pass through your land and would like to offer our labor as reimbursement.”

“Hm.” The gamekeeper was considering his proposal. This was a good sign.

“I can muck your stables, or cut wood,” Roane added.

“An’ the girl? What will she do for me?”

Roane did not like the insinuation in the man’s tone. “Nothing. She’s mine.”

“I can sew.” Helen shifted behind him.

“For the morning.” Roane cut her off before she could say more. “We leave unharmed at noon.”

The gamekeeper muttered something but nodded his agreement.

Roane grabbed the bedrolls. “I’ll need to gather our things and fetch the horses.”

The gamekeeper waved him on but aimed his rifle at Helen. This was the second time he’d pointed a weapon at her, and Roane was no less infuriated by it.

“I’ll wait here with the gel,” the man said.

Roane dared a glance at Helen. She appeared more furious than scared. It seemed she was getting used to the dangerous life on the run. Her face was pale, though, and it took every ounce of self-control he had to walk away toward the horses. She had him all twisted up inside so he couldn’t think straight. All he wanted was to get her out of danger.

He readied the horses, murmuring soothing words as he worked, trying to calm his agitation. He’d been caught trespassing before, and he’d walked away a few hours later. Hopefully, his plan worked. Otherwise, he’d just made a damned big mistake.

***

H
ELEN TRIED NOT TO BREATHE
through her nose as she mended the torn sleeve. The shirt needed to be washed as badly as it needed to be repaired. Really, the owner of this hut, currently watching over them with a rifle across his lap, could do with hiring a woman to see to his needs. His home was surprisingly neat and tidy, but his laundry showed little care and smelled terribly.

At least she was able to work outside in the fresh air, within eyesight of Roane. More than once she’d pricked her finger as she glanced up to watch him. It chased away her fear, the way he wielded the axe. She supposed she should be scared. Terrified, really, of the man holding the gun. But the gamekeeper didn’t seem the violent type. Indeed in the brighter morning light, he appeared older, his hands knobby, his skin spotted. She began to suspect Roane was humoring their captor and biding time until they could leave in peace.

Roane…she looked up again, thoroughly and completely distracted by the sight of his muscles bunching and lengthening as he worked. It was fascinating, the raw power and abject beauty of the male body. The force and strength in him was mesmerizing.

The wood split and tore beneath his blade. He kicked the smaller piece away with his boot, then repositioned the iron wedge in the larger half and raised the axe overhead again.

Roane Grantham was a picture of grit and determination. He didn’t complain when their captor showed him the pile of logs to split. He didn’t balk. He didn’t charm, maneuver, or hedge. He put his head down and did what needed to be done.

Somewhere in his past, he’d learned to work hard. He’d also been whipped and had some experience with small spaces. Shadows lurked behind his easy smile.

Things he didn’t want to talk about.

But Helen was dying to ask about them anyway. She was so curious about him, it was starting to drive her a little bit crazy. She’d even considered stealing his journal and rifling through his private thoughts, as she’d done to her brothers when they were younger.

He lifted the axe overhead and swung it down.

She felt the reverberation through her as if he’d struck deep in the core of her. Struck the want in her. She pulsed and pulsed with the rhythm of his work, a strong throb that she knew as desire.

What would it be like if Roane put all the intention and rhythm toward her? All that rippling and power?

Her breaths shortened at the thought. Her blood heated and she pricked her finger with the needle.

Did he feel her, like she felt him? For he turned then, the axe dangling from one hand, and stared at her.

Sweat glistened on his chest. On his muscles, across his tanned skin.

Her mouth went dry.

His breeches were slung low over his hips, and her eyes wandered down over his powerful legs.

She was staring and she did not care. Could not bring herself to care.

Her blood beat with one purpose.

Want.

It pooled everywhere in her, heavy and insistent.

He threw his axe to the earth, and she glanced up at his face. His eyes were heavy-lidded and dark as he stared back at her. Then he glanced at their captor and turned away to draw himself a drink of cool water from the well.

“Once I finish this pile, we leave,” Roane said to the gamekeeper.

Keeping his gun trained on Roane, the man crossed the yard, took the axe, then looked up at the sun hanging high in the sky. “She’ll cook us a meal.” He nodded in her direction.