Faith (17 page)

“Saddle Calypso for me,” Gareth told the man in a dipped voice. He looked down the road that led from Rothmere.

He hoped he could manage to control his temper when he finally found his wife.

Twenty-seven

F
aith jumped when she heard something rustling in the bushes to her left. Her imagination had been working overtime since she’d left the comfort of the open road for the relative safety of the trees. She stayed close enough that she could still see the road, for she had no idea where she was. She did not know if the way she traveled even led eventually to London. All she knew was that it had taken two days for them to reach Rothmere traveling by coach. She imagined the return trip would take far more time than that, considering her lackluster riding skills.

The mare was a treasure, though, unerringly choosing the best path through the trees despite the novice guidance of her rider. Sprite nickered softly in response to the sporadic conversation Faith was having with her.

“I’m certain,” the marchioness said, “that you realize how foolish and illogical it is for us to be taking this trip. I do hope you won’t hold it against me.” Faith grimaced as yet another leafy twig slapped her in the arm, and ducked just in time to avoid a rather low branch.

“I’m not sure what I’ll do when day breaks. I’ll have to find something for both of us to eat, of course.” She looked down at her delicate attire, realizing that she couldn’t possibly knock on someone’s door and explain her plight. A woman traveling alone was an uncommon event, even among the peasant class. Her clothing marked her as someone of quality and would, ironically, raise more suspicion than if she were more simply dressed. Her only option was to keep moving until she found a village or an inn, and to hope Gareth hadn’t already been there and inquired about her.

He’d look for her, of course—and he would be able to travel much faster, as he knew the area and had no need for stealth. Since he was an expert rider, she had little doubt he’d catch up to her quickly. Indeed, she’d been listening for him to do so for the last two hours. She considered briefly moving farther into the trees and praying for him to unwittingly pass, but knew that progress was her only hope.

She had another, more pressing problem. Dawn was beginning to streak the sky with shades of pink. It was one thing to travel close to the road during the night; during the day, she’d be exposed. Leaving the road, however, might result in her becoming utterly and completely lost. That thought terrified her.

It was no different, really, than the old fear she’d felt when she was in the maze. The woods were dense here, and she had no idea how far they extended. She imagined, too, that all sorts of wild creatures lived in these woods, wild creatures that would likely consider her and Sprite a rather delicious meal. So, she imagined, it was prudent to stay close to the road.

“You know, Sprite, I have decided to look upon this as a grand adventure,” she told the horse somewhat shakily. “Just think of the freedom we suddenly have. We could become anything we want today. I could be a wild Gypsy, and you a beautiful unicorn with a golden horn.” The little mare snorted doubtfully, and Faith laughed. “Well, it’s fun to dream.”

An errant spiderweb that stretched between two trees chose that moment to pop up in her path. Faith gave a small shriek as the gossamer strands adhered to her face. She twisted in her saddle and let go of the reins, scraping desperately at the sticky silk, terrified the spider was still in residence and would take grave offense to Faith destroying her home.

Her actions caused Sprite to dance nervously to the side. Faith, already precariously perched in the sidesaddle, lost her balance and slid to the ground in a heap. A moment later, more disgusted with herself than hurt, she got to her feet and walked over to Sprite, who stood patiently waiting for her near a tree.

“I don’t suppose you have any idea how I should go about remounting, do you?” She gave the mare a wry look, then stiffened as she heard hoofbeats coming up the road at a frightening clip.

Faith froze. It could only be Gareth. She had seen nobody else, not a single soul, in the entire time she’d been traveling, and no one else would have reason to travel so quickly this early in the morning—at least, not as far as she could imagine. She put her hand on Sprite’s bridle and began stroking the beast’s nose, whispering soothing words, hoping the mare would stand quietly until the rider passed. With a grimace, she turned to watch the patches of road she could see through the trees, knowing full well that if she could see her husband, he would most certainly be able to see her. All it would take was a glance in her direction. Between the bright periwinkle color of the gown she’d worn for almost twenty-four hours now and the soft gray of Sprite’s coat, she and her mount didn’t exactly blend into the foliage.

The rider finally appeared, mounted on an enormous black stallion. Faith could tell even from a distance that it was indeed Gareth. She watched the way his head turned as he scanned the forest on each side of the road, and knew with a sinking heart that she would easily be seen.

Sure enough, just before he drew even with her position, Gareth pulled on the reins, slowing his stallion, turning the mount, and walking it back to the edge of the road. “Faith,” he called in a calm voice. “You might want to consider coming out of there on your own. I can promise you’d rather I didn’t come in to get you.”

At his words, logic and reason fled. Faith knew a sudden anger like none she’d never before experienced. Without bothering to respond, she turned and began to walk deeper into the woods, leaving Sprite standing where she was. Faith didn’t look back, not even to see if Gareth knew what she was doing. All she knew was that she had to get away from him, had to find solace and think of some way out of this situation.

Gareth watched his wife disappear into the trees and shook his head. He led Calypso into the woods and looped his reins around a branch near Sprite, then headed calmly and purposefully into the underbrush after Faith. Though he couldn’t see her anymore, he could hear her ahead, moving slowly through the branches and undergrowth, hampered by her inappropriate clothing and the fact that she hadn’t a clue how to go about choosing the easiest path. If he hadn’t been so angry with her, he might have been amused by her futile attempt at flight.

She heard him just as he caught sight of her, less than a hundred yards away, trying to untangle her hair from the thin branches of a sapling. She turned her head as much as possible, redoubling her efforts when she saw how close he was. However, the more she struggled, the more hopelessly tangled she became, until she finally gave up in disgust and turned her back on him. She simply stepped closer to the trunk of the young tree and waited.

He didn’t say a word, just stepped up behind her and began loosening her tangled hair with deft fingers. In a matter of moments, she felt the tension on her scalp disappear. She took one step away, but he grasped her arm just above the elbow and spun her around to face him.

“Have you nothing to say?”

His voice was calm, so she glanced up at him, trying to assess his mood. She raised her chin a notch. “Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“Yes.
Thank
you.” When he continued to look at her, as if waiting for her to elaborate, she added, “For releasing my hair from that branch.”

He shook his head and turned, tugging on her arm to get her to follow. When Faith dug in her heels and refused to budge, he simply put both hands on her waist, picked her up, and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Stop it! Put me down!” She balled up her fists and pounded at his back, wriggling and trying to kick her feet in protest at the undignified way he was carrying her. Gareth just tightened his arms around her upper thighs and ignored her complaints. When they got back to the horses, he perched her in Calypso’s saddle and swung up behind.

Faith sat stiffly erect and refused to look around. “I can ride Sprite, you know.”

Gareth bent forward and grasped that mare’s reins, giving her enough lead to follow comfortably. “I know you can, princess.” He pulled her back against him so she could sit more comfortably in her small portion of the saddle. “I just don’t trust you.”

He dug in his heels, and his stallion started forward. The group stepped back out onto the road and turned in the direction that continued away from Rothmere.

“Where are we going?” Faith tried to twist around to look at him, but her husband was holding her too securely against his chest.

“There’s an inn a short distance from here. I rode hard to catch up with you. Calypso needs a rubdown and something to eat, and we all need some rest before we start back.”

Faith looked down at her wrinkled and smudged attire, giving a grimace, but didn’t argue. She remained quiet until they reached the inn, worried thoughts tumbling around in her agile brain. He’d been angry with her before she’d run away, but that had felt different than now. Last night, his anger had simmered below the surface, and though she still didn’t really know what had triggered it, the reaction in him had definitely been driven by emotions. Today, he was distant. Cold. Almost indifferent.

And yet, he’d come after her. Was it for pride, or something else?

They reached the inn. Thoughtful, Faith stood quietly while Gareth issued instructions to a man who came to take care of their horses. And though he didn’t spare her a glance when he’d finished, she obediently followed him inside the inn, no longer concerned about her appearance or what anyone might think. She continued to ponder the situation, lost within her thoughts all through the breakfast Gareth ordered, only speaking when manners and force of habit dictated—both times to thank the serving girl, who appeared to deliver dishes and then to take them away.

She finally spoke when the innkeeper arrived to show them to a room. “We are staying here, my lord?”

Gareth ignored the question and placed a hand in the middle of her back to guide her down the hall after the innkeeper. Frustration blossomed in the pit of her stomach, but Faith held her tongue until they were inside the room and her husband had closed and locked the door.

“What is your problem?” The question burst from Faith in a rush. “Other than my running away, I cannot fathom what has happened to justify your treatment of me from the second we stepped inside the door at Rothmere until now. I’ve turned it over and over in my mind and can come up with nothing.”

He remained silent but quirked an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” she repeated more quietly, searching his face, biting her lip when she noted the obvious weariness in his eyes. She ached to step closer, to touch him and to find a way to understand him, but beneath the weariness there was pain and undeniable warning. Thus, she sat down on the edge of the bed and continued to regard him steadily. “I’m sorry I ran away, Gareth.”

He turned without responding and pulled a chair from the corner of the room to position it in front of the door. He settled down, then propped his feet on a wobbly nightstand. “Sleep,” he told her. “I’d like you to remain upright in the saddle for the trip back to Rothmere.”

Faith didn’t move. “Is this how we’re to spend the rest of our lives together?” she asked.

Gareth quirked a humorless smile. “Only if our lives end today, princess. Go to sleep.”

Instinctively, Faith knew she was missing a great deal of the puzzle. Gareth wasn’t the sort of person to become this angry and cold over a perceived lack of interest in his home. There was something else at stake, something of greater import. Tilting her head, she gave him one last assessing look, slipped off her shoes, and stretched out on the bed with her back to him. Within moments, exhausted as she was by stress and the events of the last twenty-four hours, her breathing deepened and slowed, and she fell asleep.

Gareth, on the other hand, found slumber impossible. He watched her shoulders rise and fall, astonished that she showed no sign of guilt at her reprehensible actions. The involvement with another man he could almost understand, though the thought of it sent daggers of pain ripping through his chest. Logically, he realized she’d likely been involved with whoever it was long before he entered the picture. But the fires…?

Gareth sucked in his breath with sudden realization: she was not aware of the fires.

He didn’t know why he hadn’t seen it before. This meant, of course, that her lover had set the fires to buy her—
them
—some time. Probably she had been riding to meet him here, at this inn. It was the only logical meeting place, close enough for Faith to find easily, and comfortable until her lover arrived. This also explained Faith’s worried reaction when they continued to the inn instead of heading back to Rothmere.

Gareth’s jaw tightened. Well, the bastard could bloody well come back to Rothmere to fetch her. And when he did, Gareth would have someone follow Faith, catch the two of them together, and make her lover pay in flesh for the damage to his home.

And to your heart,
a little voice called from within his head.

Resolute, Gareth ignored that little voice, satisfied that he had a plan. Giving Faith a final glance, he slouched down in the chair and closed his eyes as well.

While they slept, the Earl and Countess of Huntwick woke up in their own room just down the hall and began making preparations to continue their journey to Rothmere. Their conversation was decidedly more pleasant, and they descended to the lower level of the inn to enjoy a leisurely breakfast while their coach was being readied.

While they were eating, a very nervous-looking man scurried into the dining area, followed by a large red-faced woman. “I don’t care if the gentleman looked like quality. This is not the sort of establishment that will tolerate a man bringing in his doxy for a morning of fun,” she said in a firm voice that brooked no opposition.

Fascinated, Grace stopped eating and began watching the altercation. Trevor raised his eyebrows at her overt eavesdropping, but said nothing.

“She didn’t look like a doxy,” protested the man meekly. “And he paid for the room in advance.”

“They appeared out of the woods first thing in the morning, sharing a horse and leading another. No coach, no servants. Nothing good can come of that, I say.”