Susan Johnson (41 page)

He waited a moment more to see if they veered west. The officer raised his hand to stop his troop, and some discussion occurred. Then the leader pointed at
Dens Forest, directly at him, it seemed to Johnnie, who could see his face through the glass. He instantly dropped the instrument from his eye. If the sun flashed off the lens …

His return to the cottage was accomplished with record speed.

“A patrol’s heading this way,” he said, careful to keep the alarm from his voice. “We’ll have to leave.”

“I’ll go with you,” Polwarth declared.

Johnnie shook his head. “Stay here. Detain them if you can, should they find the cottage.” He was taking his baldric and sword down from the hooks by the door. “Bring up a flagon of claret from the hogshead in the cellar so it’s on the table; I’ve never seen a soldier yet who won’t have a drink.” He slipped the sword belt over his head. “An hour, even a half hour, will help.”

“You can’t go east now.”

“We’ll attempt it in a few days. We’ll make for the shepherd’s hut up in the hills behind Letholm. It should be remote enough.”

Both men knew Letholm was farther yet from the coast, but neither mentioned the added distance.

“I’ll put food in the packs,” Elizabeth offered, aware of the unspoken communion between the men. Both were clearly reticent to reveal their feelings, unusual after the days of easy informality she’d witnessed.

“Just load one with food,” Johnnie said. “We’ll have to leave the packhorses behind. The pasture is limited in the hills.”

“I could bring up more supplies tomorrow or even tonight,” Polwarth offered as he and Johnnie were saddling the horses.

“No, you might be followed. If the patrol comes this way, they could be searching the woods because they know this is Carre land. In which case I’d prefer you don’t change your routine and arouse suspicion. We’ve enough supplies for a few days, then we’ll make for the coast.”

“I could go for Munro and Adam and bring back a large enough troop to escort you to Margarth Cove.”

“I can’t risk battle with Elizabeth. How can I protect her in a melee? There’s nowhere she’d be safe.”

“And she couldn’t travel fast enough to outrun the dragoons from Edinburgh.”

Johnnie shook his head. “If she hadn’t been with me, I would have made straight for the coast. My barb can outrun any horse in Scotland. But Elizabeth can’t ride at a forced pace. The dragoons would have overtaken us by Coldstream. But we’ll reach the ship,” he said. “The journey will just be in stages.”

They reached the shepherd’s hut in the foothills of the Cheviots late that afternoon, the snow at the higher altitude making the horses’ footing treacherous. And after Johnnie had helped Elizabeth inside the rough stone structure built into the hill, he started a fire. They were both chilled; the temperature had dropped as the trail climbed, the wind frigid and blustery, tossing the light snow on the ground into swirling clouds.

He led the horses in out of the wind also, securing them against the wall away from the hearth. They couldn’t afford to lose their mounts to the bitter wind. And while Elizabeth tried to stop shivering, slowly turning before the fire, Johnnie unloaded their few supplies.

“We won’t be here long,” he said, placing their food pack on a rough table. “A day or two at the most. You may have the chair,” he added with a courtly drawl, pulling a small three-legged stool from under the table and bringing it over to the fire.

“How far
is
it to Margarth Cove?” Elizabeth asked, sitting down, thanking him with a smile for his gallantry.

“Probably twenty miles from here,” he said, dissembling slightly in the interests of optimism.

“Would it be better to travel at night?”

He nodded, squatting down beside her, warming his hands at the fire. “There’s less risk.” He stared into the flames for a moment. “If we do meet troops, though, they’ll be more suspicious of travelers out so late.”

“We could cover twenty miles in five hours even at my snail’s pace.”

It wasn’t twenty but more like twenty-five, Johnnie knew, with the first several miles in the hills desperately slow going. “It’s possible,” he lied. Then he stood abruptly, his frustration level acute; familiar with a life of reckless incaution, he was restless under the necessary restraints dictated by Elizabeth’s pregnancy. “I’m going to find some more wood for the night,” he suddenly said. “If you get hungry before I return, there’s a meat pie right on top,” he added, pushing the table closer to the hearth.

“I feel like a damnable burden.” Her sigh curled frosty white in the frigid air. “I’m discovering how useless I am outside a fully staffed household.”

“Good God, I don’t expect you to know how to chop wood. What woman would?” Reaching over, he tousled her hair so she looked up at him and saw his affectionate smile. “You can, however, say a prayer to whatever deity is in charge of fires that the last occupant left a supply of wood. Otherwise, I’m going to have to go back to that copse a mile down and bring back a few trees.”

“In that case,” Elizabeth said, attempting to return his smile when she was cold, tired, and hungry, “I shall surely pray for you. It’s too cold to be out tonight. Why not burn the table?”

“A resourceful woman,” Johnnie said with a chuckle. “But it won’t last the night.”

And as Elizabeth huddled before the fire, a stream of curses reported Johnnie’s irregular progress outside in the dark, followed a short time later by a yelp of pain—more curses, and then a howl that seemed to signify gratification. He returned five minutes later, carrying an armload of neatly split oak. “I think our fortunes are on the upturn,” he said with a grin, shaking the snow from his hair and shoulders. “There’s enough wood stacked in a hole dug out of the hill to keep us warm.”

His good spirits amazed her; he had certain cause for bitterness with a price on his head, his title and estates confiscated, his very life at risk. But his optimism
cheered her in the drafty, dirt-floored hut when she was cold, wretched, and plagued with doubts about their chances of reaching the coast. “How do you do it?” she asked.

“Actually, I fell into the hole.”

“No, I mean stay so cheerful.”

“Look, I found the wood, which means I don’t have to walk a mile on this god-awful, miserable night, chop down some green wood, drag it back uphill a mile, and then try to get it to burn.” He shook his head again so the melted snow scattered in a flurry of drops. “I’d say that’s a damn good reason to smile. And if I could get you to toast some bannocks while I bring in enough wood to last the night, I’ll dazzle you with my good cheer.”

“Maybe I could warm that cooked grouse on the spit and put some of those ham slices on that grate.” His cheer seemed to be infectious.

“I knew there were other reasons to love you madly beside—well …” His smile flashed white in the shadowed interior. “The obvious ones—your skill at needlework, your mastery of the tea table—”

“My sexual abandon?” she reminded him with a theatrical batting of her lashes.

His smile widened. “I was getting to that.”

He could make her forget the cold and her hunger, the oppressive danger; he could make her smile sitting on a rough stool with her back cold as ice and her face burning from the fire. “I love you,” she whispered, taking strength from his confidence, hope from his determination.

“We’ll reach the ship,” he quietly said, placing the wood on the floor and going to her, understanding the extremity of her despair.

“I know,” she murmured, when she didn’t, when she wondered how they could possibly cross twenty miles of patrolled land undetected.

Sitting on the cold earthen floor, he pulled her into his arms and held her on his lap, warming her with the heat from his body, with his love, rocking her gently as one would a child. “Tomorrow night we’ll go east. Most
of the route is through property of my friends and neighbors. We’ll be fine. Robbie should be at the cove by now. And you’ve never seen Holland.”

He kissed her gently when she smiled. “It’s warmer there,” he murmured with a faint smile. “You’ll like that.”

“Tell me about it,” Elizabeth said, wanting the images and words and dreams. Wanting to forget the cold and her fear. “Tell me of your house there.”

And he spoke then with uncustomary detail and at great length because he understood her need for hope. He told her of his home outside The Hague, set out in the country a short distance from the city, painted pale yellow with an enormous garden surrounding it. “The gardeners planted another five thousand tulips last fall,” he said, “and they’ll be blooming next month when we’re there.” He hugged her closer and told her they’d find a midwife she liked in Amsterdam or Rotterdam or The Hague. The ones in France weren’t as fastidious as those in Holland, a country where housewives even washed their steps and sidewalks every day. He volunteered to live in any of his homes she preferred, although he admitted that the one in Rotterdam was more hectic, with the warehouses attached.

“We’ll reach safety,” he repeated at last.

“I wish I weren’t a hindrance … slowing you down.”

He went still suddenly and took her face gently between his great large hands, so his eyes held hers, and he said so softly his voice didn’t carry beyond the circle of their warmth, “Never say that. Don’t even think it.” He’d been reared to assume responsibility, to fulfill his duties, to rise to difficult challenges, and now he had two lives in his care that meant more to him than all his worldly possessions. His deep voice was only a whisper now. “We’ll see the coast tomorrow night.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “And our child will be born in Holland.”

He nodded. “My word as Ravensby.”

Well fed from the supplies they carried, they slept on a bed of dried ferns covered with a plaid, the stone walls heated from the fire holding warmth, the quiet
sounds of the horses munching their grain a peaceful presence on the cold winter night. The solitude brought with it a tranquillity that eased Elizabeth’s anxieties; Johnnie’s powerful body warm against her back offered security. She slept as though they weren’t being hunted, weren’t on the run.

They brought the horses outside in the morning, for the sun had come out, and patches of snow were beginning to melt, leaving grass exposed. And later they replenished the woodpile, Elizabeth helping, and feeling more optimistic in the bright sunshine. How long could a twenty-mile ride take? she more cheerfully considered. Surely, two people in the dark of night could elude a few patrols. She doubted soldiers would be conscientiously out all night anyway. And Johnnie had said they’d be traveling through private lands.

As her thoughts turned inward, she didn’t properly attend to the difficult terrain, and she slipped, her feet suddenly going out from under her on an icy patch. With an abrupt cry of alarm, she dropped heavily on her back, the wood in her arms tumbling on top of her.

Johnnie was at her side in an instant, tossing the wood aside, kneeling beside her in the snow, checking for broken bones. And when he’d assured himself nothing was broken, he picked her up and carried her back inside the shepherd’s hut. Laying her down on the fern bed, he tucked the plaid around her.

“You’re not to help anymore,” he firmly said. “That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” she faintly said, her breath knocked out of her when she fell. And with the troubled look in his eyes, she didn’t dare tell him cramping spasms had begun drifting up her stomach. Just a consequence of the abrupt jolt to her body, she told herself, rationalizing away the seriousness.

But the spasms continued, and in another hour she couldn’t conceal her suffering as stabbing pains accompanied the seizures. Struck by another convulsion, she winced, worry creasing her brow. And a short time later, when Johnnie returned with a drink for her from the
stream outside, she nervously whispered, “I think I’m in labor.”

His skin went pale beneath his dark tan. “It’s too early.…” A baby could never live at seven months, he thought, terror-stricken.

“Maybe the pains will stop.” They must, she silently prayed, knowing she’d lose her child if they didn’t.

Johnnie only nodded, unable to speak. No matter his strength or will, he was powerless to relieve her. He couldn’t even go for help; Elizabeth couldn’t be left alone in this crisis.

“See if I’m bleeding … I’m not sure.”

No, he wanted to reply, because if she was bleeding … there was no hope the child would live. But he couldn’t refuse, even if he wished to ignore reality, so he slowly lifted the green plaid, gently eased the fine saffron wool of her skirt aside, and looked, his heart thudding in his chest. The irregular light from the fire poorly illuminated the hut. “I don’t think so,” he said, straining to distinguish detail in the half-shadows, feeling inadequate to the task.

“Take my handkerchief.” Elizabeth said, pulling the white linen from her throat. “If there’s no blood …” Wistful hope infused her voice.

He took the crisp fabric, placed it between her legs, and held it there for a moment. Lifting it free, his breath in abeyance, he looked swiftly as if he wished the bad news over. Then he looked again. And then he smiled, holding the white square of Holland cloth so Elizabeth could see it. “Nothing,” he said, a small triumph in his voice.

“At least not yet,” she said with an immediate relief, but the strength of her cramps hadn’t diminished.

“Now lie perfectly still; I’ll fetch and carry for you,” Johnnie said. “Order me about,” he added with a grin, “if it will make amends for the state I’ve put you in”—trying to distract her with humor, trying to distract himself, too, he realized, from the impossibility of dealing with this life-threatening condition.

“You
are
to blame … coming up to my room that
night at Goldiehouse,” Elizabeth replied with a small, reminiscing smile.

“And not letting you say no.”

“I never can with you.”

His smile wasn’t the familiar roguish one, but a rueful faint quirk of his mouth. He’d never thought in the glory of their passion of this possible extinction of life, of her pain. He kneeled beside her, his hands on his thighs, his broad shoulders slumped, feeling wretched, his eyes filled with pity. “I promise you celibacy from this moment on,” he quietly said, “to guard you from this again.…”