By Love Unveiled (22 page)

“William, when did your master return to England?” she asked.

The servant eyed her with suspicion. “Why do you wish to know?”

“I can’t tell you,” she said, “but it’s important. Please. What harm is there in telling me?”

He scowled, then sighed. “Suppose you’re right. Wait a bit and let me think . . . well, when we left Spain
in search of his quarry, we didn’t return. We crossed the Channel from Portugal. A rocky crossing it was—”

“When did you return?” Marianne broke in. She had to know if Garett had been in England when Father had been arrested.

“I believe ’twas late July. Two days after my birthday.” He grinned broadly. “I told m’lord that seeing England again was the best of birthday gifts.”

Marianne let out a breath. Garett hadn’t even been in the country when the poison had been found in Father’s medications. He hadn’t needed to be there to have treachery done, yet it seemed unlikely he would have been plotting from afar to have Father arrested, while chasing after some man in Spain.

Aunt Tamara’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. “Enough chatter, poppet. Drive on and be quick about it. We need to gain more time on the earl.”

With a nod, Marianne closed the curtain and started the team moving. All this time she’d assumed that Garett had returned to England with the king and the other exiles. She’d assumed that his revenge had taken so long for him to bring to pass because regaining his lands from his uncle had taken time.

But if he hadn’t returned to England until after Father’s arrest, he couldn’t have been involved in Father’s death.

A weight lifted from her chest, leaving her almost giddy with relief. She tried to tell herself it was because she couldn’t have endured thinking she’d allowed such a villain to take liberties with her. But the truth ran
deeper. She didn’t want Garett to be a villain. She wanted him to be a man she could respect, could care for.

She sighed as she coaxed the mules into a brisker pace. Even if he was, it changed nothing. She still had much to fear from him.

He said he desired her, but he desired Mina, the mysterious gypsy girl, not Marianne, the suspect lady. Learning who she was would, at best, deepen his suspicions concerning his uncle and at worst force him to turn her and her aunt over to the soldiers. A man who embarked on missions for the king wouldn’t allow the daughter of a suspected traitor to go free.

She swallowed hard, fear gripping her. He musn’t find them. He mustn’t!

Oh, why was she worrying? Regardless of what William said, Garett couldn’t work miracles. After all, he might not even have followed them. After their confrontation that day, he might be glad to be rid of her.

Throughout the afternoon, she clung to that hope. By the time the sun had set, her hope rose more. There’d been no sign of Garett. What’s more, the moon was full, so they could keep going for a while yet.

If only she weren’t so tired.

She thrust her head through the curtains to ask her aunt to take her place on the perch, only to find Aunt Tamara and William both asleep on the pallet. William’s arms cradled her, and Aunt Tamara wore a soft smile as her body curved into his. They looked so blissful in their sleep. How could she wake them?

The mules plodded on. The wagon passed through a village with a couple of brightly lit inns. The smell of roast beef wafted from one of them, making Marianne’s mouth water. She would give anything for a hot meal instead of their cold provisions right now. And only think how wonderful it would be to sit by a warm fire and sleep in a soft bed.

But she dared not stop with Garett possibly in pursuit.

After reluctantly leaving the village behind, she pulled her cloak more tightly about her. For a while, the cold wind seeping beneath the wool kept her awake, but soon even that didn’t stave off sleep. If she could just lay her head on a pillow for a few minutes . . .

When she awoke with a jerk, she realized she’d been dozing. But for how long? Her mask had slipped down over her nose. As she jerked it into place, she glanced around. The mules had drawn the wagon off into a meadow and were busily munching grass, and the moon was far higher than before.

Devil take it. She must have been asleep a few hours. Thank Providence she’d awakened while it was still night.

Then she realized what had awakened her—the sound of hooves rumbling in the distance. She seized the reins in a panic. It couldn’t be Garett, since the sound came from ahead of them, but still, the noise made it clear that more than one horse was approaching.

A pox on’t, who would be riding the road at night?
Stories of highwaymen flashed through her mind, and she opened the curtains to call into the wagon, “Someone approaches!” but William and Aunt Tamara merely grunted in their sleep.

Frantically she tugged at the reins to urge the mules back onto the road. They wouldn’t budge from their grazing, curse them! Leaping down from the perch, she yanked on the reins in desperation, but the mules were as exhausted and hungry as she, loath to leave the pleasant meadow at the side of the road.

Then the horsemen rounded the curve, and her heart sank. Nine well-armed soldiers rode wearily toward them. She said a silent prayer. Perhaps they would ride on without noticing the wagon. The last thing she needed was soldiers engaging in their favorite pastime of persecuting gypsies.

But her prayer went unheeded. The moonlight clearly outlined the wagon, catching the eye of the soldier who rode at the head of the band.

“Look here!” he called to his fellows. “ ’Tis a gypsy’s wagon. Just what we need to keep us in the captain’s good graces when we tell ’im we lost that thief. If we bring ’im some vagabonds, he might go easy on us.”

Fading into the shadows beside the wagon, Marianne held her breath.

“Come on, Harry,” another soldier cried. “I ain’t up for anything but a good bed and a mug of ale.”

Unfortunately, Aunt Tamara chose that moment to thrust her head out the curtains. “What is it?”

“Hush!” Marianne whispered, but it was too late.
The soldier sighted Aunt Tamara’s hair silhouetted against the wagon’s pale curtain.

“Oho!” the soldiers’ leader shouted, pulling his horse off the road. “ ’Tis a gypsy
wench
we have this time.”

“Will!” Aunt Tamara cried as the soldiers rode into the meadow.

But William was already out the back doors, knife in hand. The soldiers laughed when they saw his puny weapon and thin frame. Three leapt from their horses to rush him, but he fought fiercely, his wiry strength taking them by surprise. He sliced open the arm of one man, who yelped and fell back, but another jumped down to join the fray, and the lot of them finally managed to disarm him. Then two soldiers held him while one slammed his fist into William’s stomach.

“Leave him be!” Aunt Tamara leapt down from the wagon to run blindly into the crowd of soldiers. One caught her easily about the waist.

“Harry, you found us a good wench,” he shouted, his hands lifting to cup Aunt Tamara’s ample breasts.

William strained helplessly against his captors with a strangled cry, which turned into a groan as a soldier hit him again and again.

Marianne’s vision clouded with fury. Whipping her cloak about her, she stepped forth from the darkness. “Release her!” she cried.

The men paused to stare at her. At first her cloak and mask seemed to disconcert them.

“She’s got the smallpox,” Aunt Tamara told them quickly, accustomed to thinking on her feet.

“The smallpox, eh?” The man named Harry sneered at them. “Show us the pox, and we’ll leave you be!”

God rot him. What should she do?

As she hesitated, Harry darted forward to grab her arm. Before she could slap him with her free hand, he jerked her around and up against him so hard that it knocked the breath out of her.

His fingers clawed at the mask as she fought him. Then it was gone and the hood of her cloak pulled back, setting her hair free.

“Well, lads?” Harry asked as he dragged her struggling form before the other men and yanked loose her cloak so it fell around her feet.

Someone released a low whistle. “Faith, Harry, ’tis a bonny one ye’ve got there!”

“Isn’t she, though?”

His arm wrapped about her waist, and he slid a knife beneath her laces. In moments her dress came apart at the back. As the other soldiers cheered him on, he snatched away the scarf at her breasts, pushed down her stiff bodice, and squeezed one breast so hard that she cried out in pain.

It was too much to bear. Marianne kicked at him, grimly pleased when her heel hit some part of Harry’s anatomy.

But it wasn’t enough. With a curse, Harry threw her facedown on the ground and sat atop her, jerking her arms back painfully.

“Little lying witch, aren’t you?” he growled. “The pox indeed! Well, then, gypsy witch, let’s see ’ow long
you last the night with us. Perhaps we can teach you and your friend the right way to please a man.”

Marianne groaned, certain she was to be crushed beneath Harry’s weight long before he could defile her. As she struggled for breath, another soldier shouted, “Harry! Someone’s coming!”

Wonderful. Now there would be another assailant to add to their torment.

“So?” Harry said. “He’ll go on when ’e sees it’s well-armed soldiers.”

Marianne tried to scream, praying that whoever approached would come to their aid, but Harry forced her head down into the grass, muffling any sound.

Then above the thundering of blood in her ears, she heard hooves thundering on the road. When the sound abruptly stopped, she found herself hoping . . .

“What are you men doing?” a harsh voice rang out from behind her.

Garett. Thank heaven, it was Garett!

Then a chill swept through her—there were nine men to his one.

“It’s none of your business, I’m thinkin’,” Harry cried.

This time Garett’s voice was much nearer. “Get off her! Now!”

“Who do you think you—”

Abruptly, Harry’s weight left her, and she looked up to see Garett suspending the soldier aloft with only one hand clenched around the man’s neck.

Harry struggled fruitlessly for breath. As Garett lifted
him higher, the soldier’s face turned purple. Only when he was clawing at Garett’s hand did Garett toss him to the ground. Harry lay there choking and gasping as Garett turned his back on him.

While the others stared, awestruck, Garett knelt beside Marianne and turned her onto her side. His gaze swiftly took in her partly bared breasts and slashed laces, and rage glittered in his eyes. He stood and helped her to her feet, then laid her cloak gently about her shoulders.

But there was nothing gentle in his expression as he turned to face the soldiers, keeping a protective arm about her waist. “Who’s your captain?”

A soldier laughed nervously. “If you think he’ll care that we had a little fun with some gypsies—”

“He’d care if he heard you assaulted friends of the Earl of Falkham.”

“Earls don’t traffic with no gypsies,” one man called out.

By this time William had found his voice. Struggling against the arms that held him, he cried, “He
is
the earl, you damned fools. And I wouldn’t anger m’lord unduly. I’m just his valet, but she”—he nodded toward Marianne—“she’s his runaway mistress.”

Though the revelation seemed to give the men pause, it wasn’t enough to keep them from closing in.

Garett thrust Marianne aside and unsheathed his sword. “Think before you act. If I’m not the earl, you’ve lost nothing but a night’s enjoyment. If I am, you’ll seal your fate by attacking me.”

The men hesitated. Then Marianne saw Harry rise from the ground behind Garett. “Garett!” she screamed as she pointed at Harry.

Garett wheeled just in time to deflect the blade that Harry drove up at him. Harry thrust again, but this time, Garett not only parried the thrust but also forced the sword from Harry’s hand.

Then he pressed the tip of his own blade against Harry’s throat. “What say you, Mina?” he asked coldly. “Shall I kill him or give him over to his captain?”

“I beg you, m’lord,” Harry croaked, “I didn’t know she was y’r mistress.”

Hastily Marianne laid her hand on his tensed arm. “Please don’t kill him on my account.”

His muscles tightened under her hand. “Why not?”

“I don’t want his blood on my head.”

Garett clenched his jaw, and she feared he might actually ignore her and act on the threat anyway.

Then he lowered the blade. “Who’s your captain, damn you?”

Harry let out a long breath. “Merrivale,” he squeaked, his eyes still locked on Garett’s sword.

“He’ll hear from me, I assure you,” Garett snapped, “and I’ll make certain you receive a flogging for what you’ve done this day.” He turned to the other soldiers. “As for you lot, be glad my mistress can’t bear the sight of blood. Leave now, before I change my mind.”

Harry scurried to his horse. The men holding William released him abruptly, and he fell to one knee. Aunt Tamara’s captor thrust her aside. Then the soldiers
hurried after their leader, clearly not eager to take their chances with the earl after having witnessed his skill with the sword.

Aunt Tamara rushed to William’s side, cursing the soldiers as she ran her hands over his body, searching for broken bones. Rigid as a statue, Garett watched the men leave. Only after they were out of sight did he sheathe his sword and turn to Marianne.

“They didn’t . . .” he began as he pulled aside her cloak to survey her again, this time more carefully.

His expression of concern and raw pain made her pulse quicken. “Nay.” She suffered his gaze a moment in silence before drawing her cloak back into place. “I have you to thank for that, my lord.”

In the moonlight, his eyes seemed like two dark jewels burning their brilliance into her flesh. “Yes.” Then his face grew shuttered. “We’ll discuss that later.”

He glanced over to where Aunt Tamara sat fussing over William, who grumbled about her ministrations. “How is he?”

“No broken bones,” Aunt Tamara said. “He’ll live.”

“Good.” Garett turned to William. “There’s a village a few miles from here. Do you think you and Tamara can make it there on your own?”