Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (10 page)

"Yes." Rachel sighed. "That wretched girl has broken his
generous heart. However could she serve him so when they had been
promised forever? And yet Craig Tyndale is such a very fine young man.
What a—" She clutched at her hood, shivering as the rising wind sent
her cloak billowing. "How cold it is getting. Charity, are you warm
enough with only that thin shawl?"

"It is woollen and quite warm, fortunately. I'd not thought
the wind would become so strong. Is it too chilly for you? Perhaps we
should turn back. I can send one of the servants for my braid, or go
tomorrow."

Rachel hesitated. It really was much more chill than she had
anticipated, but—"I must not molly-coddle myself."

"But of course you must. You cannot expect to feel quite as
energetic when you are increasing. Come, we'll go home and—"

"We will do no such thing! I will get warm if we walk a little
faster."

Charity protested strongly, but Rachel knew how much her
sister enjoyed her daily walk, and they went on. When another brisk
gust snatched the hood from her head, however, she said, "Well, that
settles me, I'm afraid. You keep on, love, and I'll go back. In
fact—just the thing! You take my cloak and I'll have your shawl. No, do
not argue with me, Charity. It really is getting quite cold. I shall be
snug in my parlour in five minutes, and easier in my mind knowing you
are cosily wrapped in something warm."

Charity really was beginning to feel goose bumps on her bare
arms and so the trade was made. She watched as Rachel hurried back
towards the Hall, then proceeded on her way, joying in the buffeting of
the wind against her cheeks, and breathing deeply of the clean crisp
smells of damp earth, spiced by the fragrance of newly scythed grass.

She had not gone very far, however, before she was again
halted, this time by a small but piercing voice. With tiny pointed tail
held high, and minute pink mouth vigorously proclaiming joy at
encountering a familiar presence, Little Patches approached. The wind
deposited a branch directly in her path, but it was evident that for
her the shortest distance between two points was a straight line. To
turn aside and avoid the obstacle was not even considered. She gathered
her plump self into a crouching huddle, waggled minuscule hips and
sprang into the air, only to plop down in the middle of the branch. She
uttered a wail of frustration and sat down.

Laughing, Charity went and gathered her up. "Foolish
creature," she scolded, holding the pleased kitten against her throat.
"I suppose Brutus chased you out here. So now I am given the choice of
taking you home, or carrying you all the way to the village with me."

Her answer was a grating purr and the busy kneading of little
paws at her collar. And so they went on, kitten and bearer together,
through the brilliance of the May morning.

Soon, the purrs became softer, but rhythmically even. Charity
held out her small burden and surveyed it. Little Patches was asleep.
That she was a very sound sleeper Charity knew from experience, and so
she deposited the kitten carefully in one of the copious pockets of
Rachel's cloak and walked on.

Inevitably, her thoughts turned to Alain Devenish, his
handsome, earnest face, and the unconventional offer he had made her.
Her first offer. She smiled ruefully. And her last, no doubt, for it
was extremely unlikely she would ever receive another. Small chance of
marriage for a plain girl who dwelt in the country for most of the
year, had never been launched into the
ton
, was
not adept in the art of flirtation, and was, besides, a bluestocking.
"Rachel," argued a contrary inner voice, "was used to dwell in the
country and furthermore had no dowry such as Justin has now settled
upon you." But Rachel, said Charity to herself, is so exquisitely
beautiful and probably received more offers than she would admit, until
Claude Sanguinet monopolized her every moment and spread the silken net
that almost dragged us all down to tragedy. She shivered.

"I am not surprised to see that you shake in your boots,
madam! All alone again, and far from home! Where is your maid or your
footman?''

Charity thought, "Oh, confound the creature!'' But, looking
up, was just for a moment struck to silence.

Whisper pranced and sidled skittishly, rolling her eyes at
Charity as though she resented the presence of another female.
Untroubled by her antics, Redmond swayed in the saddle with easy grace.
He wore no hat and the mischief of the wind had blown his dark hair
into a rumpled untidiness, so that although he scowled fiercely at her,
he looked younger somehow and less formidable. The fresh air and
exercise had brought a flush to his lean cheeks and a sparkle to his
eyes, and the dark red riding coat that fitted his shoulders to
perfection so became him that Charity thought a bemused, "My heavens,
but he is a fine-looking man!"

The mare capered as the wind tossed a weed, and she reared,
snorting with exaggerated panic. Redmond pulled her down, and as she
spun, he demanded,'' Come, ma'am. I will escort you back to the house."

"I cannot say how you go on in Hampshire, Mr. Redmond," said
Charity, recovering her voice. "But here in Sussex a lady need not fear
for her safety when she is on her own land."

"Then since you are no longer on your land, perhaps you will
agree—like a sensible woman—to go home."

It was true. She had crossed the wilderness area and the
meadow and reached the lane at the edge of Justin's preserves.
Chagrined, she exclaimed, "Oh, for goodness' sake! I have walked to the
village since I was a child, sir. And I scarcely think—"

"Very obviously. Attempt it now, if you please, Miss Strand.
Cast your mind back a few days. Have you so soon forgotten the
circumstances under which we first met?"

The scorn in his voice was biting. Flushing resentfully,
Charity pointed out, "That was some miles to the north of Strand Hall.
And—"

"And thus in darkest Africa, I suppose. I should think you
would be aware that it is neither—blast you, Whisper!—it is neither
safe nor proper for you to jaunter about the countryside in this
ill-bred fashion."

Ill-bred! Charity drew herself up to her full fifty-nine
inches and declared with regal disdain, "I cannot feel it incumbent
upon me, Mr. Redmond, to be guided by your inhibitions. Do
you
judge it unsafe out here, I recommend that you hurry to Colonel Leith,
who will, I am sure, offer you his protection!"

He glared at her, his eyes narrowing unpleasantly. "By Jove,
but I've a damned good mind to throw you across my saddle bow."

"Then you will most assuredly answer to my brother-in-law,"
she retaliated, her face flushed with anger.

"Your brother-in-law, madam, is about to be treated to a piece
of my mind! Best!" His voice rose to a shout, and Charity stepped back
quickly as the alarmed thoroughbred immediately jumped into the air and
whirled about twice.

Redmond made no effort to calm his indignant horse, but waved
as the groom cantered from the trees to join them.

"Come along, there's a good man," urged Redmond impatiently,
"What in the deuce delayed you? Never mind— get down, if you please,
and give me your reins. That's it. Now, I want you to accompany Miss
Strand on a, er, vital errand. Her abigail was obliged to return home."

Infuriated by such high-handed tactics, Charity snapped, "I
was not with—"

"Without apprehension?" inserted Redmond. "Naturally not,
ma'am. Best, see to it that Miss Strand does not stay out too long in
this wind." He added with a meaningful stare at Charity, "Or go too
far."

He had as well say she was no better than an infant! Yearning
to remind him to give Best her leading strings, Charity restrained
herself with considerable effort.

To add to her humiliation, Best's grave expression left little
doubt but that he was in full accord with Redmond. Taking back his
reins, he tied them to the pommel. "No need for you to bother with this
old fool, sir," he said, giving the hack a slap on the rump and
watching him trot off. "He knows his way home. I'll take care of Miss
Charity. Never you fear, sir."

Turning on her heel, Charity marched off, muttering, "Of all
the interfering… insufferable… opinionated… !"

Smothering a grin, the groom asked, "Did you say something,
miss?"

"No! And furthermore, Best, I know very well what you are
thinking, so you need not address me again!"

Best obeyed this stricture for the next ten minutes, walking
slightly behind Charity as she stepped out briskly along the lane, and
thinking in amusement that he'd not be too much took aback did Redmond
do what he'd said and have a word or two with the Colonel. Better tread
careful, had Redmond, however good his intentions. Colonel Leith had
not got all his rank without learning how to deal with insolence, and
Mr. Redmond had brought insolence to a fine art!

Charity's thoughts followed along similar lines. If that
wretched Mitchell Redmond caused Tristram to be so alarmed that her
daily walks were curtailed, or she was not allowed to step out-of-doors
without being guarded like—Her heart gave a sudden odd little jump.
Guarded? Against what? There was little doubt but that she had not made
a dazzling impression upon Redmond; the man despised her. Why, then,
should he care where she walked? Or whether she went alone or with an
army of footmen and abigails to escort her? Why did he—

She turned swiftly as she heard horses. Best glanced behind
them also, but there was no sign of riders in the peaceful lane.

"I could have sworn," said Charity, "that I heard—"

"Have a care, miss!" Best exclaimed sharply.

She swung around. A coach was coming around the curve of the
lane. A large coach, very luxuriously appointed, and gleaming black.
Charity's heart seemed to freeze. She saw in a series of cameolike
impressions that the four horses were black and perfectly matched; that
the coachman and guard wore black and gold livery; that three
outriders, clad in the same sombre garb, were coming up quickly, riding
in silence on the grassy verge of the lane.

In a croak of a voice, she cried, "B-Best! Oh, Best! For the
love of—"

Best swore under his breath, grabbed Charity by the arm, and
jerked her behind him. "Run, miss!" he urged. "Run!"

The wind had sent several branches down, and he snatched up
the nearest. It was pitifully inadequate against the three who rode at
him brandishing long, serviceable-looking clubs, but it would have to
do.

Charity hesitated only a second, then ran, her little feet
flying as she sped frantically to the break in the hedge beyond which
was the meadow and a chance of being seen or heard. Her heart was
beating so madly that it seemed to deafen her, but she heard a sudden
choking cry and was anguished by the knowledge that poor Best had
fallen.

A man was laughing. Hooves were thudding up behind her.
Sobbing with terror, her heart bursting, she could hear heavy running
footsteps, harsh breathing. She screamed as a rough hand clutched her
cloak and yanked it so hard that she fell. Brutal faces were grinning
down at her. "Don't be so scared, Missus Quality," rasped a coarse
voice. "We ain't a-goin' ter hurt yer. Not in your condition.''

"Do not… touch me…" Charity gasped out between numbed lips.
"Don't—"

But she was wrenched to her feet, and she screamed again. A
large hand smelling of stale beer and dirt clamped across her mouth.
Dizzied, half stifled, sick with terror, she felt her bones turn to
sand as consciousness faded.

Her last thought was, "Sanguinet… ! Oh, my dear God!"

Riding at a gallop towards Strand Hall, Mitchell Redmond
readied Whisper, and with no check in pace, set her at a low wall on
the far side of the meadow. The mare soared upwards in a beautiful
leap, neighed with fear, and landed in a scramble that would have been
disastrous had it not been for the consummate skill of her rider. Even
so, she staggered, and leaping from the saddle, Redmond went to his
knees. He was up in a second, heedless of his muddied britches as he
checked on his mare. Whisper was sweating and trembling violently, but
she did not appear to have taken any injury. Relieved, Redmond
straightened and saw from the corner of his eye a rapidly departing
figure. So that was what had caused the fiasco! Some blasted idiot had
been lurking about under the wall! His irritation with Tristram Leith
forgotten, he shouted, "Hey!"

The intruder promptly broke into a run.

Redmond turned to Whisper and stroked her. "Sorry, lass," he
said, and mounted again. He turned her cautiously, but she gave no
evidence of a limp or of reluctance, and he brought her to a canter.

He never carried a riding whip, but there was at all times a
Manton in his saddle holster. He slipped it out, levelling it as the
mare came up with the fugitive. "Hold, you confounded clod! What in the
devil d'you think you're doing?"

The offender cringed, one arm protectively upflung, whining,
"I ain't done nuffink, guvnor. Let me be. I didn't mean ter fright yer
nag."

He was only a youth; stockily built, with flaming red hair and
a pinched-looking countenance that showed the lack of proper food. He
had a strong beak of a nose and a pugnacious jaw, and the firm lips,
now twisting downwards, parted to reveal regular, if not well-brushed,
teeth. The one thing that Redmond found repulsive about his appearance
was not so much a feature as the lack of it, for he had no eyebrows, so
that his wide-set brown eyes looked naked and abandoned.

"Who are you?" demanded Redmond, conscious of an odd sense of
familiarity. "And what in hell were you about? D'you know you damn near
caused my mare to break her pretty neck?"

"Wasn't my fault, guv. I works fer Lord Rickaby. Just cutting
acrost the field on me day orf. Musta been sleeping, just a bit of a
kip, guv, and I didn't hear yer comin'. Don't you shoot, now!"