A Rose in Winter (65 page)

Erienne started slightly when a rattle of many hooves sounded outside, coming up along the front lane to cease beside the tower door. Paine turned the knob, but before he could open the portal, it burst wide at the inward rush of Sheriff Parker followed closely—indeed, too closely—by Haggard Bentworth, that worthy ever-ready-for-battle crony. A whole flock of fellows came at their heels and crowded into the entry. Seeing the open door of the common room, the sheriff brushed arrogantly past Paine, then stepped spritely aside as the naked blade that Haggard bore prodded him in the backside. He yelped and whirled, swatting the harrying sword down with his hand and causing it to rake the sheepskin vest and closely threaten his manhood. It was only when the danger had passed that Allan dared release his breath, then a menacing glare came into his eyes and bored into Haggard, who fumbled sheepishly with the weapon.

"Put that thing away, you fool!" Parker snarled through gnashing teeth. "And this time not in me!"

Good Haggard eagerly nodded and thrust the weapon into its sheath with a vengeance, then flinched and sucked his left thumb where a small droplet of blood welled up.

Paine raised his chin and sniffed loudly, managing to speak without a hint of a smile. "Lord Saxton awaits in the common room."

Allan Parker snorted once at Haggard and, mumbling beneath his breath, strode angrily through the tall, welcoming archway. He advanced a pair of paces into the room and, with an officious frown, surveyed the scene that met his eye, giving the master and mistress of the house a curt nod before he turned and beckoned a man to him.

"Sergeant, set the men to searching the house and put a guard on this door. Then see that those outside are..."

His words were halted by a loud double click, and both he and the sergeant turned warily to face their host. They found themselves returning the unwinking gaze of a pair of oversized pistols and could not find the courage to doubt their priming and loading. Lord Saxton's skill with weapons was a well-known fact throughout the countryside, and neither of them wished to test it at a close range.

"No man searches this house but on my word or the King's." Lord Saxton's rasping voice resounded through the hall. "I have issued no such directive, but if you have a warrant from the other, then I would see it."

Both men kept their hands carefully away from their sidearms while Parker, with a decided change in manner, made haste to apologize and explain.

"Your pardon, my lord." He doffed his hat as he acknowledged the presence of the lady and nudged the sergeant with his elbow until that one followed suit. "I have no warrant from the Crown, but 'tis my good intent to seek your permission for a search. We are looking for the night rider. A dastardly crime was committed several days ago, and we have proof that one Christopher Seton is that rogue, the very same who laid Squire Becker in his grave, brutally slew his coachmen, and kidnaped the young daughter."

Erienne stepped forward, her hand raised in hot denial, but her way was suddenly blocked by a gloved hand bearing a pistol. She looked down at her husband in angry urgency. "But 'tis not..."

"Shush." His subdued whisper came for her ears alone. "Control yourself, my love. Trust me."

She returned to her position, but when her hand came back to the chair, she gripped it until her knuckles were white.

The sheriff continued as he regained Lord Saxton's attention. "The man is also wanted for the murders of Timmy Sears and Ben Mose, not to mention a host of lesser crimes." He rubbed the back of his bandaged left hand. " 'Twas said in town that he was some kin of yours."

"Are you sure of your facts, Sheriff?" The hollow voice chuckled lightly. "Christopher Seton and pistols, that I can believe, but he seemed too clumsy an oaf to be well skilled with a blade."

Parker slipped his left hand into his coat and shrugged. "Skilled enough at least to best a drunken sot and a brawling lad untutored in the matter of blades."

A bitter laugh came from the blank mask. "Or an aging squire who would defend his daughter?" The low, coarse voice took on a note of concern. "Your hand, sir? Have you hurt yourself?"

The sheriff reddened a bit and stumbled over an excuse. "I... I cut it. 'Tis little more than a nick."

Lord Saxton lowered the hammers and tucked the pistols away. "I will allow your men to search. Only tell them to be quick about it. My housekeeper will not take kindly to all these muddy boots tramping through the place."

"Certainly, my lord." Parker jerked his head at the sergeant. "Attend to it."

The sergeant stepped before his men and flung out his arm in several directions as he gave them orders. When they had been dispersed, he took to the stairs, leaving the sheriff to poke about the corners of the common room.

Lord Saxton shifted his weight carefully in the chair and lent his attention to Erienne. "My dear, if you would be so kind. A brandy for the sheriff."

Without a word Erienne crossed to the sideboard, struggling with the nervous tension that had sapped the strength from her limbs. After pouring a draught from the decanter, she turned with the glass in her hand, but her husband gestured again.

"A little more, my love. Tis a foul day out, and the sheriff will no doubt need the fortification for the ride back."

Parker perused the comely feminine form as he took the glass, wondering how the girl could content herself with such a husband. He remembered Avery's difficulty in finding a suitor to please her and had to believe the girl was handling her guise of devotion very well.

Upstairs in Erienne's chamber, Aggie watched the men rudely search the armoire and tramp behind the draperies that secluded the bathing room. She cringed as Haggard's sheathed sword fanned out behind him, bumping against the furniture and threatening costly vases and lamps. His face lit up as he passed Erienne's dressing table, and he paused to sample the intoxicating scent of a dusting powder. Curiously he raised a crystal vial and, with his thick fingers, ever so gently lifted the stopper. He poked his large nose near the top and sniffed. An expression of dreamy ecstasy transformed his face, and for a moment he forgot the world existed.

"Aren't you... ?"

Haggard jumped, and the perfume vial flew from his hands, doing a spiraling cartwheel through the air, in the process dousing him with a liberal portion of the contents. He juggled his hands about, trying to catch the crystal container, and breathed a sigh of relief when he clutched it safely to his bosom. Finally he met the woman's pained stare with a hesitant smile.

"Aren't you supposed to be looking for a man?" Aggie reminded him.

A light seemed to dawn in his brain, brightening his face, and Haggard hurriedly set aside the crystal vial. He glanced about, then dusted his hands, content that no one was hiding in the room. Beckoning to his confederates, he passed on into the hall. In his absence, Aggie waved the air in front of her nose and looked heavenward, as if she offered prayer for such a clumsy buffoon.

A second libation had been offered to and taken by the sheriff when his men returned to the hall. Haggard was grinning in joyful innocence for a task well performed and missed the widely skeptical stares of his companions. He crossed the hall to stand beside the sheriff, who choked on the remainder of his brandy as the overpowering fumes hit him. Coughing to catch his breath, Parker looked about with a mild tearing of the eyes. In the background Aggie smiled smugly, content that she had been present to see the expression on the sheriff's face.

"No sign of a wounded man in the house, sir," the sergeant announced.

"Satisfied, Sheriff?" Lord Saxton inquired.

The man nodded reluctantly. "I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, my lord. We will look elsewhere for the knave, but should he come here, I beg you detain him and send a rider to inform us."

No answer came from the mask, and the sheriff pushed Haggard out ahead of him. Erienne held her place, listening to their departure until an overwhelming silence filled the manse. Lord Saxton gestured to Aggie, bringing the woman close, and spoke in a low voice to her. The woman straightened, cast a quick glance at her mistress, and hastily left the room.

Once they were alone, Lord Saxton raised himself slowly from his chair and half turned to his wife. "I would like a private word with you, madam. Would you be so kind as to join me in my chambers?"

Now that the moment of truth was at hand, Erienne was not nearly so certain that she wanted to proceed. Considering that Christopher had only recently vacated the chambers, she wondered if she should direct her husband elsewhere, but the suspicion that Aggie had already told him about the Yankee made Erienne hold her silence. Meekly she crossed the room and then paused at the entry leading into the tower to wait for Stuart, who came at a more awkward pace than usual. As he climbed the stairs, he seemed overly tired. Erienne ran ahead to open the door for him and was amazed to find that the bedcovers had been turned down and the pillows fluffed and piled in one heap. It was apparent that Aggie had already been there to prepare the room, and Erienne could not resist a question as Lord Saxton passed her with his slow, halting gait.

"Are you ill, my lord?"

"Lock the door, Erienne," he rasped and, without appeasing her curiosity, made his way carefully to the chair by the hearth.

Erienne turned the key and stared dismally about, wondering what the next moments would bring. Her husband's stoical manner boded ill, and she held no hope that she could approach him on the matter of their marriage without feeling greatly hampered by her trepidations. Hesitantly she moved to his desk and idly turned several pages of the tome as she tried to think of an opening.

Lord Saxton hitched the chair around to face his wife. "Will you pour me a brandy, my dear?"

The request startled her, and casting a curious glance at him, she reached to take the stopper from the crystal decanter that resided with several glasses on a silver tray. She poured a draught and felt his gaze as she brought him the libation. The fact was firm in her mind that he had never taken any substance in her presence, for doing so would have necessitated the removal of the mask. Unable to cease her trembling, she hurried back to the desk and lifted the crystal stopper to replace it.

"So, my dear..."

She faced him with thudding heart, the crystal piece clutched desperately in her hand, but she was hardly aware that she even held it.

"... You say I have let another man into my bed."

Erienne opened her mouth to speak. Her first impulse was to chatter some inanity that could magically take the edge from his callous half statement, half question. No great enlightenment dawned, however, and her dry, parched throat issued no sound of its own. She inspected the stopper closely, turning it slowly in her hand rather than meet the accusing stare.

From behind the mask, Lord Saxton observed his wife closely, well aware that the next moments would form the basis for the rest of his life or leave it an empty husk. After this, there could be no turning back.

"I think, my dear," his words made her start, "that whatever the cost, 'tis time you met the beast of Saxton Hall."

Erienne swallowed hard and clasped the stopper with whitened knuckles, as if to draw some bit of courage from the crystal piece. As she watched, Lord Saxton doffed his coat, waistcoat, and stock, and she wondered if it was a trick of her imagination that he seemed somewhat lighter of frame. After their removal, he caught the heel of his right boot over the toe of the left and slowly drew the heavy, misshapen encumbrance from his foot. She frowned in open bemusement, unable to detect a flaw. He flexed the leg a moment before slipping off the other boot.

His movements seemed pained as he shed the gloves, and Erienne's eyes fastened on the long, tan, unscarred hands that rose to the mask and, with deliberate movements, flipped the lacings loose. She half turned, dropping the stopper and colliding with the desk as he reached to the other side of the leather helm and lifted it away with a single motion. She braved a quick glance and gasped in astonishment when she found translucent eyes calmly smiling at her.

"Christopher! What... ?" She could not form a question, though her mind raced in a frantic search for logic.

He rose from the chair with an effort. "Christopher Stuart Saxton, lord of Saxton Hall." His voice no longer bore a hint of a rasp. "Your servant, my lady."

"But . . . but where is ... ?" The truth was only just beginning to dawn on her, and the name she spoke sounded small and thin. "... Stuart?"

"One and the same, madam." He stepped near, and those translucent eyes commanded her attention. "Look at me, Erienne. Look very closely." He towered over her, and his lean, hard face bore no hint of humor. "And tell me again if you think I would ever allow another man in your bed while I yet breathe."

This revelation was so different from what she had assumed, Erienne had trouble grasping the facts as they were presented to her. She knew the two were one, but reason failed to knot the elusive ends and brought the plaintive questions to her lips. "How? Why?"

"The one you thought was Lord Saxton is dead. He was my older brother, Edmund. He bore the title before me, but when the east wing burned, he was trapped in the fire. His servant found him... or rather what was left of him... in the ruins, and laid him in an unmarked grave atop the cliff overlooking the firth." The muscles flexed in his cheek, giving evidence of his constrained anger. "I was at sea at the time, and the letters bearing news of his death never reached me. When I came to England, I was presented with the fact that someone had murdered him."