The Highwayman (6 page)

Rory took the flask back and replaced the stopper in silence.

“Please, I want to know.”

“Why?” Rory asked, examining her with the first hint of curiosity he’d shown since she was captured.

“It seemed to comfort the man so much. I would love to have that consoling effect on another person, especially someone so sick.”

Rory considered for a moment, and then said, “Burke was telling him how brave he was, that he had never seen another man take such an injury so well.”

“And was that the truth?”

Rory shrugged. “I’ve never seen a man take a wound as well as Burke, and I’ve seen a lot of English weapons gouge into Irish flesh,” he said meaningfully, turning his back and disappearing through the flap of the tent.

Alex watched the injured man, who was very still, until she fell asleep.

* * * *

The sick man died during the night. His body was gone when Alex woke up in the morning.

Rory said nothing to her all day as he brought her meals, and when Burke finally arrived, well after nightfall, he looked exhausted and dispirited.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Alex said in a small voice.

“Oh, indeed you are,” Burke replied.

“It’s true. I hate to see anyone suffer.”

“Do you now? Isn’t that a charming sentiment? On this island we’ve been suffering at English hands for generations, and I’ve never seen any fine ladies like yourself weeping buckets about it.” He tore off his tunic and tossed it in a corner.

“I would have helped him if I could.”

“My fault,” he said as if talking to himself. “I waited too long to open him up, and by that time he was too weak from the fever to fight.”

“How was he hurt?”

“He was on a survey mission around the castle and he was picked off by an English sentry.” Burke looked at her narrowly. “You should be celebrating, shouldn’t you? Another glorious victory for the Crown, to be sure.”

He unfolded a clean tunic from a pile in the corner and yanked it over his head.

Alex glanced down at her bound hands, unable to answer.

“Why don’t you bloody people get the hell out of my country?” he said as he stalked back out of the tent.

* * * *

Alex’s monthly flux started during the night. By morning she felt sticky and uncomfortable, and paralyzed with embarrassment about her situation. There was little she could do about it without confiding in her captors.

She didn’t consider talking to Rory; he would just think it was another ploy to get loose and probably ignore her. She knew instinctively that Burke would listen to her, but even the prospect of discussing her problem with him made her flush crimson.

When Rory brought her breakfast she said,

“Will you tell Burke that I crave the favor of a talk with him?”

Rory glanced at her but did not reply.

“Please. It’s important.”

Rory left, and she began to calculate miserably how long she could last in her current position before her dilemma became obvious.

Fortunately, Burke appeared shortly thereafter, his blue gaze impassive as he stood before her.

“What is it now?”

“Have you had any message at all from my uncle?” she asked, delaying.

“If so, you would be long gone from this place, my lady,” he said, turning to leave.

“Wait. I... I have a problem.”

He turned and faced her, his arms folded.

“I’m bleeding,” she blurted out, her cheeks burning.

He scanned her figure, looking for an injury. “What are you saying?”

“As a woman bleeds with the change of the moon,” Alex mumbled, staring at his boots. She could feel more hot color flooding into her face.

There was a long pause, and she sneaked a glance at him. From his expression it was clear that he was as discomfited as she was.

“What is it you need?” he asked gruffly.

“Some clean strips of nappy cloth for folding.” She paused. “Aren’t there any women in the camp?”

She hadn’t seen any since she came.

“They’re all inland. I’ll see that Rory brings you the linens. Anything more?”

“I would cherish another bath, and I’ve been tied up for long days now without exercise. Can’t you turn me loose for just an hour to wash and walk about a little? I am galled with cramps, and I can feel that my legs are weakening.”

Burke studied her suspiciously.

“I have no plot to run again,” she said quietly. “‘Twould be folly, when I’m surely close to safe and happy reunion with my kinsman.”

“Would that it were nigh at hand,” Burke said dryly.

“Amen,” Alex responded. She could have sworn she saw a trace of a smile on his lips.

“There’s a stream on the other side of the camp, in a different direction from the one you took when you ran. Rory will bring you there tonight and you can bathe and have exercise, see to your needs.”

“Oh, can’t you bring me yourself? Rory makes me so nervy. He ... hates me.”

Burke shot her a glance that implied that he was not exactly fond of her, either.

“If you would escort me, I shall not forget it when I’m restored to my uncle. I will report to him that I was treated fairly, as befits a gentlewoman of my station. No doubt it will influence him in future dealings with you.”

He studied her in silence and then left the tent.

* * * *

That evening, Alex waited anxiously as the camp settled down for the night. It was a long time before all the voices had ceased and the sound of the sentry’s pacing had become as monotonous as a musician’s metronome. Finally, Rory appeared at the opening of the tent and regarded her without enthusiasm.

Alex’s heart sank. She didn’t realize how much she had been counting on going with Burke, until she saw his lieutenant.

Rory had a bundle of clean rags and clothing under his arm. “Come along, then,” he said in his accented English as he cut her bonds. “I have my orders.” His dull manner made it clear what he thought of this duty. “And no tricks,” he added, fixing a length of rope to her wrist and leading her by it. “You ken what will happen if you try to get away.”

Alex stumbled along in his wake, noting the smoldering fires and the stillness of the sleeping camp. She knew that Burke kept her close confined when most of the men were around to see her. The timing of this excursion was not accidental.

Rory set a quick pace, and Alex was trotting to keep up when she crashed into him as he suddenly stopped short.

Burke had stepped out of the shadow of the trees, appearing like a phantom. He said something in Gaelic to Rory, who stared at him for a long moment, and then glanced quickly at Alex. He handed her the bundle of linens and dropped her rope. Then he set off through the trees, surefooted as a deer, without looking back.

Burke picked up the length of rope and cut it swiftly, leaving a circlet of hemp around Alex’s wrist. Still stunned by his unexpected appearance, Alex stared up at him.

“Well, don’t take root there,” Burke said, returning his knife to the sheath at his waist. “I call to mind that this excursion was Your Ladyship’s idea.”

He started off along the path, and Alex hurried after him. She kept silent until they reached a clearing where she could hear, but not see, the splashing of a brook.

“Why did you let me think Rory was taking me out here at first?” she asked.

He looked at her but didn’t answer. Alex sighed. She didn’t know why she wasted her breath asking him questions, as he bothered to respond only when it suited him.

Burke sat on the ground, propping his back against a tree and stretching his long legs before him.

“The brook is just through the brush that way,” he said pointing. “And take warning ...”

“I’ve already had the text from Rory.” She hesitated, then sat at Burke’s feet. He watched her warily, not objecting, but merely observing her movements closely.

“You speak such fine English, like a gentleman. How came you by that knowledge?” Alex asked.

“Does it offend your ears to hear a savage speak like an English gentleman?” The bitterness in his tone was unmistakable.

“I was merely . . . surprised. How did you learn?”

Burke leaned his head back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes. He knew it was a mistake to talk to her, to treat her as a person, as anything other than an object to be traded for his brother. But he was tired of the soldier’s life—the brutish conversation of the men, the crude meals gobbled over open fires, the single-minded pursuit of the enemy. It allowed for little else. Surely a small respite from all that would not be harmful.

“My mother worked in the kitchens at the castle when I was a boy,” he said. “Carberry’s lady, now dead, took a fancy to her and had her as a maid for years. I learned your language in her chambers.”

This explained his upper-class accent and vocabulary, most peculiar to his situation.

“And Rory?”

“Rory is my cousin; his mother was my mother’s sister. She worked at the castle, too. He and I practice the language and speak it to each other when we can.”

“So Lord Carberry knows you.”

A satisfied smile touched his lips. “Aye. He knows me, and all of mine. He’ll know more of us in time.”

The manner in which he spoke sent a chill down her spine.

“Why can’t you give it up, this fighting?” she asked softly.

“Would you, if it were your own country in the hands of a foreign power?”

Alex shook her head. “I know little of such things. Politics and government were not thought fit subjects for my study. I’ve learned naught but needlework and homely duties, a little music, some Spanish and French for conversation, the preparation of medicines and recipes ...”

“Hadn’t you cooks in your uncle’s house?”

“Yes, but I learned to make fancy dishes, such as would please a man and adorn his table for fine occasions.”

“And what are they?”

She smiled. “Do you think I dissemble? Are you demanding examples?”

“I am.”

“Very well. I can prepare a dressed partridge stuffed with grouse and served with a sauce of leeks and Madeira wine, a custard-and-whey posset with pressed currants, a cream comfit of cherries and quince pears, venison pasty....”

Burke made a disgusted face. “Fancy fare. I’d rather a boiled fowl and a glass of stout. What else did you study?”

“Latin to read the classics and for church service. Prayers. My uncle is a devotee of the new learning.”

Burke snorted. “Religion. An excuse to be a coward.”

“You have no religion?”

He gestured to the woods around them. “In the old days we worshiped the trees and the stones.”

Alex laughed. “You worshiped objects?”

“In the time of the Druids, Celtic people felt the power of nature in the natural things around them. It’s no more foolish than worshiping a God you never see.”

“They do say that in the Welsh Marches there are people with speckled skins and webbed feet who worship a goddess who demands human sacrifice.”

“Who says such things?” Burke asked, amazed at such ignorance. “Your uncle?”

Alex nodded. “All his retainers believe it. And my maid, Annie, told me that the Irish rebels boil captured English children and serve them, carved like suckling pigs, to English prisoners.”

Burke waved his hand. “The English think that anyone who doesn’t live forninst the London Bridge and change religions with the Tudors must be swinging from the trees.”

“You’re not a Christian, then?” Alex said. The idea was foreign to her, as she had never in her life met a heathen. “I thought that Ireland was converted centuries ago.”

He shrugged. “I’m an Irishman, that is my only loyalty. All religion is the same to me. It seems clear there is a power above us; as for the rest, I leave that to the scholars and the priests to debate.”

“‘So if there is one God ... all the rest is a dispute over trifles.’”

“Just so. Who said that?”

“My queen, whom you profess to hate,” Alex said, smiling.

He made a face, but conceded the point. “I have heard that she has great wisdom. She must, to remain so long on the throne in your contentious country.”

“My uncle says that history will deem her the greatest ruler of the century.”

“But she is old, and I am young,” Burke said. “Time is her enemy and my friend. I can wait.”

“How long?”

“As long as need be. Your queen can send an Essex, she can send ten of him and a hundred of him, and as long as I have breath in my body I will fight.”

“But Lord Essex is a nobleman acting on an express commission from the queen’s lawful majesty—”

“Nobleman!” Burke exploded, cutting her off in mid-sentence. “‘Noble’ is who curries favor best, who buys the richest title with the richest purse.”

Alex was silent.

“Well? Is this not true?” he challenged her.