Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (33 page)

"I have never been in Scotland before," he defended irately.
"I thought they were laughing because y—we looked so tired and rumpled.
And besides,
you
were no more aware than was I!"

"I was too tired to know where I was," she whimpered, close to
tears. "You are a
man
. I thought you
knew
what you were doing!"

Furious with her and more furious with himself, he snarled,
"Do you seriously think I'd have signed that blasted ledger of his, had
I suspected?"

"Oh.
Oh
! And you made
me
sign it!"

"For Lord's sake, ma'am, never accuse me of forcing you into
wedlock!"

"Well, you
did
! I relied on you and—and
you said for the sake of satisfying that dirty man… Oh!" Her voice
shredded. "What a disgrace! Whatever am I to tell my family? I shall
never
be able to hold up my head again!''

Redmond regarded her smoulderingly. "Dash it all, there's
nothing to cry about. We'll—make it right somehow."

She had turned away to dab a tiny handkerchief at her nose,
but now she whirled on him like a tigress. "
How
?
Tell me that!
You
signed that miserable book and
so did
I
! Oh… I am
married
…
Married… !"

Smarting, he said, "There are worse fates, you know! Matter of
fact, I know one or two ladies who might not swoon at the thought of
wedding me."

"Horrid… braggart…" she sobbed.

He glared at her. Then, glancing northwards, he said stiffly,
"Madam, you've my humblest apologies. I'll own I've made mice feet of
the business. But might your preoccupation with yourself perhaps be set
aside until we reach Brighton?"

He was right of course. Charity dashed her tears away and
tried to control her quivering lips as her husband tossed her into the
saddle.

His brow black as thunder, Redmond mounted with considerably
less grace than usual.

The newly married pair came swiftly to a canter and rode all
the way to Carlisle in grim silence.

The round little ostler standing with hands clasped behind him
rocked gently back and forth, his bright dark eyes turning appraisingly
from the Corinthian gent to the quiet, fair-haired young woman who
watched them from the coffee room, and back to the Corinthian. His
round bald head shone in the light of the morning sun, and his
permanently arched bushy eyebrows seemed to ask a silent question, "Are
they—or aren't they?… Are they—or aren't they… ?"

Scowling at him, Mitchell demanded an irked, "Why the devil
not? There's a road through there I know, for some friends rode this
way only last year. I believe they said they passed through Keswick and
went down through Windermere."

"Ar," the ostler agreed, his eyes rounder than ever. "And very
beauti
fool
it be too, sir. But did these friends
of yourn have a lady along of 'em, might I ask that?"

"Oh," said Mitchell glumly.

The ostler's hands parted and he lifted one. "Straight up, and
straight down, sir," he said with corresponding gestures. "Not so dif
fee
cult
for gents at this time of year. But the ladies, Gord bless 'em…"He
shook his head, clasped his hands as before and added blandly, "Less'n
your, er, the lady
ain't
going along, sir?"

"The lady
will
be accompanying me. I
suppose—a coach, or a curricle?"

The ostler regarded him pityingly.

"Well, blast it all," fumed Redmond, "which way
do
we go? Dammit, man, I've to be in, er, in London by Wednesday!"

The ostler stopped rocking and stared at him. "If so be you
had wings, sir,'' he said with a faintly incredulous smirk."Or if so be
the, er, lady wasn't to accompany you."

"I already told you, she is to accompany me." Redmond thought
a bitter, "More's the pity!"

"Must we take ship, then?"

"Could," said the ostler, recommencing his rocking. "Could be
becalmed
,
'course. Or could be stuck in the fog, which would likely have you
lying off Black
poo
l come Wednesday…" He grinned at
this jolly jest, but his amusement faded before Redmond's glare. "Or,"
he added hastily, "you could ride to the far west, follow along the
coast, and then take the Morecambe Bay sands to Lancaster. From there
you could make for Preston and
Liverpool.''

Redmond thanked him, arranged for fresh horses, and stamped
out of the yard grumbling about the lack of decent roads in England.

Watching that tall straight figure, the ostler's bright eyes
were thoughtful. His entire person seemed to ponder the question, "Are
they—or aren't they? Are they—or aren't they?''

"Is he never going to rest again?" thought Charity, and
wondered for how much longer she could keep upright in the saddle. She
ached all over, she was parched with thirst, and her stomach cramped
with hunger. She knew that her curls were tangled, and she'd given up
pushing flyaway wisps from her dusty face. Her husband had not spoken
for an eternity and looked ready to do bloody murder. "Still in shock,
poor fellow," she thought cynically. "Only fancy, he has married a poor
little dab of a girl, instead of one of his famous beauties." But
despite this venture into bitterness, her initial rage and resentment
had faded somewhat. Initially, she had considered only her own
predicament, but his must be as miserable. And although it was very
well to blame him for their unorthodox wedding, he had likely been as
tired as she in that wretched smithy, and perhaps more concerned for
her weariness than he had betrayed. Certainly, she could not blame him
now for riding as hard as they'd done since leaving Carlisle…

She was slumping again. She straightened up wearily. The weak
sun was beginning to dip over the grey waters of the sea. It must be
midafternoon, she judged. Only midafternoon? So many endless hours
since they'd left Carlisle. The beauties of the coastline had impressed
her at first, with the broad stretches of golden sand, the lush green
of its meadows, the soaring might of the mountains that rose to the
east. But for this past hour and more she had scarcely noticed her
surroundings, her full concentration bent upon keeping up, on not
causing Redmond one more moment of delay by begging him to stop and
find her some water. And still, on and on they went, the pound of
hooves, the sway and jolt of this interminable ride sapping her
strength.

"We must rest the horses now, Madame Mulot."

Charity was startled to find them halted and Redmond standing
at her stirrup. She slid into his arms and tottered where he led her,
to sink gratefully against a tree. For a moment she just sagged there,
eyes closed, enjoying the blissful freedom from effort. When she looked
up, he was glaring at her ferociously, but he said nothing, bending to
thrust a flask into her uncertain hand. He had left her in the coffee
room at Carlisle for a short time, and when he'd come back she had seen
him stuffing some purchases into his saddlebags, but had not suspected
he had bought strong spirits. "What is it?" she asked, eyeing the flask
dubiously.

"Oil of belladonna," he said grittily. "I positively yearn to
be a widower!"

She gave him a withering glance and raised the flask. To her
dismay, her hand shook and she could not stop it. Redmond muttered
something under his breath and stamped off, leading the horses towards
a river that joined the sea a short distance ahead. He went down a
gradual slope and disappeared from sight under a narrow, rock bridge.

Charity took a swallow from the flask, spluttered and choked,
her eyes watering. She supposed he must have given her some very strong
wine, for it burnt down her throat. She was horrified upon looking up
to see an open landau passing by, the two middle-aged couples seated
inside viewing her with patent horror. Scarlet, she thrust the flask
behind her, but the two quizzing glasses that were levelled at her
positively shone censure, and she heard one of the ladies say a
shocked, "Poor creature! A victim of Demon Rum at her age!''

The carriage slowed. For a terrible moment she fancied she was
about to be saved—then, to her intense relief, they abandoned her and
drove on. Shattered, she took another sip of the Demon Rum, and within
a minute or two she felt warmer and restored to a surprising degree.
She stoppered the flask, settled back against the tree and closed her
eyes for a moment.

She awoke to a heavenly smell, and blinking, saw a sandwich
hovering an inch from her nose. A king among sandwiches, with two great
slabs of freshly baked bread enclosing thick slices of Cheddar cheese
bright with mustard. "Oh," she gasped, accepting this incomparable gift
joyfully. She sank her teeth into it, chewed, and uttered a faint moan
of pleasure.

Redmond tossed a bulky parcel to the turf between them and sat
down rather stiffly. He ignored her indistinct thanks as he unfolded
another sandwich and grunted, "Why could you not have said you were so
tired and hungry? I often forget to eat, but I'm not a monster."

"I have slowed you too much already,'' she said, restraining
her appetite so as to look at him over a protruding wedge of cheese.
She thought she saw approval come into his eyes and said hopefully, "I
am going on much better than yesterday, do you not think?"

"You are a positive Amazon," he sneered, but his eyes fell
before her level stare and he bit rather savagely into his own little
feast.

After a moment, she asked, "Where did you get this?"

"Village. Half a mile inland."

"Good heavens! You
left
me here? All
alone?"

"I checked the road in both directions and saw only one landau
that looked much too respectable to cause me concern. Besides, you were
snoring like—"

"I do
not
snore!"

His eyes glinted at her. He said nothing, but that one dark
brow lifted provocatively. However, she wondered, did he do that? She
turned away and struggled single-mindedly to master the trick.

"Ma'am?" Redmond was peering at her. He looked frightened and,
perversely, likeable. "Not having a seizure, are you?" he asked
uneasily.

She gave a chuckle, a reckless indulgence because it enabled a
piece of cheese to go down the wrong way. Her chuckle turned into a
whoop and then a frenzied choking. A strong hand whacked between her
shoulder blades, dislodging the obstruction. Gasping, she reached out
blindly, but with no result. Opening watery eyes, she found herself
alone again. "Confound the wretch," she gasped, and wheezing, wiped at
involuntary tears.

Redmond reappeared. He was moving very fast as he climbed the
rise from under the bridge, holding a beaver hat that dripped water,
and obviously concentrating upon holding it as level as possible.

It seemed a shame, thought Charity, to let such selfless
dedication be wasted… She arranged herself as gracefully as possible
against the tree and closed her eyes.

He moaned an agonized, "Oh, my dear God!" And water was dabbed
gently at her face. She'd not meant to recover rapidly, but the water
was so icy cold it made her jump. She gave an artistic sigh, fluttered
her lashes, and opened her eyes. "Am I… dead…?" she murmured faintly.

"No! No! Oh, Lord! Forgive me, ma'am. I never dreamt I had—"

The frantic utterance faded away. She was afraid she'd not
been able to keep her lips quite as firm as they should have been, and
peered up at him. He was staring at her throat.

"Poor girl's got spiders all over her," he muttered.

With a shriek, she sat up.

"You little wretch!" snarled Mitchell. "I but now bought this
hat!"

"Where are the spiders?" she shrilled.

His eyes narrowed. "Down your bosom."

Gasping with horror, she pulled out her bodice and peered
inside.

"How
very
gauche," he drawled at his
most cynical. "Is everything, ah, intact, ma'am?"

''Why—you vulgar brute!'' She pressed one hand chastely to her
bodice. "There was nothing there at all, was there?"

Incalculably suggestive, his eyes roved her bosom. "Not much,
I'll own."

"Vicious rake!" she hissed.

He said with a reluctant grin, "Serves you right. Of all the
Cheltenham tragedies! First, that ghastly seizure, and then—"

"I was
not
having a seizure! If you must
know, I was trying if I could not—" She stopped.

"Could not—what? Frighten the spiders away?"

Glaring at him, she said, "Make one eyebrow go up, the way
yours does."

He burst into a laugh, then clutched at his side, wincing. "My
cousin was used to do the same thing by the hour," he said
breathlessly. "My father told him one day he would be struck like
that…"A wistful nostalgia came into his eyes. "He never could do it.
Very few people can, you know."

"How extremely fortunate," she said with regal disdain.

He chuckled, threw up one hand to acknowledge the hit, and
bowed slightly.

Charity struggled to restrain an answering smile. "Have you
hurt your side, Mr. Redmond?"

"I've a few bruises, I do believe. Mrs. Redmond."

She gave a gasp and jerked her face away. Astonishment eased
her misery as a warm strong hand closed over her trembling fingers.

His deep voice very contrite, he said, "Ma'am, pray believe I
am truly sorry. It was all my fault—no use denying it. I swear, when
we're done with this unholy mess I shall purchase you a Bill of
Divorcement."

Her face ürned from him, she quavered, "It is… kind in you,
sir. But, I would be just as surely ruined. It is one thing for a
gentleman to be divorced. But a lady merely becomes…notorious."

There was a brief silence. Then he said, "In that event, I
guarantee to find some unexceptionable gentleman to husband you.
Someone of impeccable birth and background, who is gentle, kind and"—a
pause—"gallant. Unless… perhaps there is already such a gentleman who
admires you?"