The Perfect Stranger (20 page)

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas came up behind her. His voice was sharp, cold. Angry.

She pointed. “I—I shot at a hare, only…only—”

“Only it’s not a clean kill! You missed, madam!” His voice was accusing.

“I know,” she wailed. She felt bad enough without him snapping at her as if she’d deliberately missed.

The others had gathered around. Mac had dismounted and was on all fours, peering in under the brambles. Beowulf pushed in with him, sniffing eagerly.

“I’ll see to it,” Mac growled. “You get on. Dusk isna too far off, and ye’ll need to get to town. I’ll catch up wi’ ye.”

“Right,” Nicholas said, tight-lipped. “Come on,” he snapped at Faith. He wheeled his horse around and trotted off.

Feeling guilty and upset, Faith followed.

He ignored her for several minutes, then he reined in his horse and waited for her to come level with him. As she did, he unleashed a tirade on her.

“What the devil were you thinking of to pull such a stupid, irresponsible stunt? I bought you that pistol for self-defense, not for shooting hares!” His face was tight with anger, his eyes chips of stone. He spoke so coldly it was like knives slicing into her. “Nobody asked you to come along on this journey, madam, and if you’re bored already, it’s your own fault! If you think you’re going to ride along whiling away the tedium by taking potshots at the local wildlife, you can think again. I won’t tolerate it, do you hear me! I shall have Stevens escort you back to Saint-Valery, and you can catch a boat to England! I loathe and detest the attitude that wild creatures are there for our sport!”

“It wasn’t for sport, it was for
dinner
!” she burst out, dashing away the tears that were rolling down her cheeks. “And I wasn’t bored. I have been enjoying every single minute of this trip. I…I just saw the hare and I…th-thought I could help fill the pot. For dinner.”

“In God’s name why?”

Faith scrubbed at her eyes and tried to explain. “I thought…I wanted to be like…I mean, you were happy enough for me to catch a fish. And you ate it!” She pulled out a handkerchief, mopped her eyes, then blew into it, hard.

He watched her in silence, and when he spoke again it was in a much more normal tone. “I have no objection to fishing. Nor to hunting animals for food. It is ripping them apart for the sake of mindless entertainment which I abhor.”

Her eyes flooded again at his words. “I didn’t mean for the poor hare to be r-r-ripped a-apart. I’ve never k-killed any animal before in my life. I thought it would be d-dead before it knew. But it m-moved at the last m-minute and I m-missed,” she finished on a wail of distress.

She took out her handkerchief and looked at it doubtfully. He sighed, reached into his pocket, and handed her a clean handkerchief, which she took gratefully.

When she was more composed he said, “But why on earth would you suddenly take it upon yourself to hunt for our dinner? I am sufficiently in funds to command whatever we may need.”

“I was t-trying to be like P-Polly MicMac.”

“Polly MicMac?
Polly MicMac?
” He started at her in incredulity. “Why on earth would you want to model yourself on a thieving light-skirt like Polly MicMac?”

“Thieving?”

He made an impatient gesture. “The biggest light-finger I ever met. Ask the farmers and villagers she passed. Never a farm was passed without Polly MicMac ‘finding’ a cockerel or some apples or a stray piglet. Could glean a feast from the desert, that wretched woman. And besides, that was in wartime!”

Faith suddenly saw a different side to Polly MicMac’s activities. She supposed officers and men would be inclined to see things from a different point of view. And especially if the men concerned were getting the benefit of the lady’s larcenous activities.

“And how the devil did you hear about Polly MicMac in the first place—?” He broke off with an exclamation. “Stevens, of course! Bloody hell! I might have known. Romancing on about his days in the army. He always did have a
tendre
for that woman, but she was—” He suddenly realized where his speech was heading and broke off.

He regarded her from under black brows. “Well, from now on, madam, you are forbidden to shoot at any more hapless creatures. For heaven’s sake—you don’t even know who owns the land that wretched hare was grazing on. You do realize that if we were in England you could be arrested for poaching!”

“P-poaching?” Faith faltered. She hadn’t thought of that.

“People get transported to New South Wales all the time for taking hares that didn’t belong to them. Lord knows what they do to poachers in France.”

Faith bit her lip. “I didn’t think.”

“No, you didn’t! So let us have no more shooting. Keep that gun where it belongs. It’s for frightening off footpads and brigands, not for killing dinner.”

He urged his horse to a faster pace and moved ahead.

Faith felt small, stupid, and cruel.

“Don’t fret, miss.” Stevens came up behind her. “You just happened to hit one of Mr. Nick’s sore points. It’s just, he’s been powerful fond of wild creatures ever since he was a little ’un and used to go off into the woods all day with my Algy.”

“But he’s right. I didn’t think. And I feel just terrible about the poor hare. I didn’t even think. I assumed it would be over in a moment—quick and painless, like it was with the fish when you stabbed it.” She shuddered, feeling queasy.

“Never you mind, miss. You didn’t mean to make a mess of it, I know. Mr. Nick knows you meant well.”

“No he doesn’t,” she said miserably.

“Ah, don’t you take it to heart, miss. He knows it was a mistake. He’ll come around, just you see.”

“I just wish…” She bit her lip.

“There now, miss. It’ll blow over. Mr. Nick will calm down, you’ll see, and Mac will find that hare and put it out of its misery quick enough.”

“I suppose Mac thinks it’s a sin to waste the meat.” Even as she said it, she felt petty.

“No, you’re wrong about that,” Stevens said with gentle reproof. “Mac is there because he can’t bear to let any living creature suffer. He’ll find it and dispatch it quick and clean this time. A legacy from the war.”

Faith felt even worse about her mean-spirited remark when he said that. “What do you mean, a legacy from the war?”

“Mac saw a great many men die in slow agony. We all did, but it seemed to hit Mac worse than most. Some men took days to die, some weeks or more. There was nothing anyone could do to help them. Mac hated it. He made all of us promise that if he was ever in that situation, one of us would shoot him, make it quick, and he promised to do the same for us.”

“How dreadful.”

Stevens shook his head. “No. You don’t know what it’s like, miss. Better to die quick and in dignity. I’d take a clean quick bullet from Mac any day over a slow death. That hare is lucky.”

Faith bit her lip.

Mac rejoined the party a short time later. His hands were scratched, and from his saddle dangled a limp and bloody rag of fur. Faith shuddered when she saw it. She felt like a brute.

“I’m sorry you had to do that, Mr. McTavish,” she said. “I’m sorry the poor hare suffered so.”

“Aye, well next time ye go to kill a creature, make sure ye do it quick and clean.”

Faith swallowed. “I will. Though I don’t think I’ll kill so much as a spider, ever again,” she muttered ruefully.

He eyed her from under his bushy brows and said in a gruff voice, “Ach, dinna take on, lass. If a fox had caught this hare, it probably would have suffered just as much. Life isna kind to creatures for the most part, and death is no kinder.”

It was undoubtedly the nicest thing Mac had ever said to her, and the fact that he’d meant to comfort Faith only made her feel guiltier and more wretched than ever. He rode ahead, and the bloodstained, dead hare bounced floppily against his horse’s flank. Faith felt every bounce.

That night, as they were getting ready for bed, Faith told Nicholas how awful she felt about the hare. She hadn’t liked to bring it up when they’d been dining below with the others.

He looked at her in surprise. “But that happened hours ago. Have you been brooding about it all this time?”

She frowned at his tone. “Of course.”

He shrugged out of his jacket. “Live in the moment, madam—remember? You made a small mistake, it wasn’t serious, so move on from it. However ill-informed your action was, you meant well. The consequences, apart from the unfortunate ones for the hare, were immaterial; there was no serious delay, you learned an important lesson, and Beowulf enjoyed the fresh meat.” He sat down to pull off his boots.

Faith was inclined to feel a bit indignant at his casual dismissal of her feelings, but he began to unbutton his breeches, and she turned away hastily. She was not yet so comfortable with him that she could watch him disrobe with equanimity.

She unbuttoned her dress and slipped out of her petticoat and chemise and into her nightgown with as much modesty as she could manage. She knew it was foolish, as he had already seen all of her there was to see, but she was new to this marriage and still felt a little shy and self-conscious at moments such as these.

She slipped under the bedclothes and waited for him to join her. She felt the give of the mattress as he joined her in bed, but instead of sliding in with her, he ripped the bedclothes back, exposing her completely. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed, half nervously, half in anticipation.

“Turn over. On your stomach,” he ordered.

She turned over. She tried not to jump when he took the hem of her nightgown and pushed it up as far as it would go.

“Lift up,” he instructed, and she lifted her stomach as best she could, while he pushed the nightgown right up past her waist.

She waited, feeling very exposed, wondering what her bottom and the back of her legs looked like. For a long time he did nothing, but she heard small odd sounds and a sort of sticky noise, like bare feet on a sticky floor—only he wasn’t on the floor.

She swallowed. Was this what she had released with that wanton kiss this morning? Or was it to be some sort of punishment for the hare? He’d said it was in the past, but people said all sorts of things they didn’t mean.

He moved closer. She braced herself. She could feel the warmth of his body close to her chilled, exposed skin.

Then something cold and slimy touched her thigh, and she gasped in horror and tried to push away from it.

“Don’t move. It’s a bit cold, I know, but it’ll soon warm up.” He started rubbing her thigh in small, circular movements.

She groaned. Her muscles were still stiff and sore from the unaccustomed amount of riding she’d done in the last few days.

“That’s it, relax,” he said. His hands stroked her thighs with long, firm movements. She felt her aching muscles protest.

“Ouch! I’m a bit sore there,” she told him.

“I know. That’s why I’m rubbing this salve into you. It’ll make you feel better.”

Faith doubted it. The pungent smell tickled her nostrils. Camphor and mint, cloves and something else. He’d used it on her ankle once, to good effect, but that was out of doors. In this small room…She wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t too fond of the smell of camphor. This was the life of a soldier’s wife, she reminded herself. She gritted her teeth, pushed her nose into the pillow, and set herself to endure it.

He put cold salve onto her other thigh and started to massage it in, squeezing and pulling and rubbing. It hurt at first, but wherever his hands moved, her skin tingled and heated. Eventually the movement and the heat seemed to penetrate into her body, and her aching muscles began to loosen and relax.

Soon Faith found herself stretching and squirming pleasurably under his hands. “Oh, this is so good,” she gasped.

He grunted. His hands never stopped.

After a while he said, “Lift up, I’ll do your back now.”

With difficulty she lifted her midriff, and he pulled the nightgown right off her. A glop of salve hit her square between the shoulder blades, and she gasped and waited for his big warm hands to start their magic again. He smoothed it over her skin gently, then rubbed and stretched and stroked for what seemed like hours. His long, strong fingers seeming to seek out every knot and work at it to dissolve it.

“Oh, Nicholas, this is heavenly,” she purred, stretching sensuously into his movements.

Again, all he did was grunt in response.

By the time he’d finished, Faith was a boneless mass of pleasure. “Sit up,” he said, and when she did, he dropped his shirt over her.

“Your shirt?”

“It’ll be easier to wash the salve out of that than the flimsy thing you were wearing.”

“Oh.” She snuggled into his shirt. It felt lovely, wearing his clothes. He pulled the bedclothes up around them and lay down beside her.

“Don’t you want me to massage some salve into you?” she asked. “You must be a bit stiff, too.”

There was a short silence.

“No, thank you.”

“Aren’t you even a bit stiff?”

There was another short silence.

“No,” he grated. “Good night, Mrs. Blacklock.”

She felt a small trickle of disappointment that they were not going to make love again tonight. Though probably he found her dreadfully unattractive, reeking of camphor as she did.

She leaned over and gave him a quick kiss. “Good night, Mr. Blacklock. Thank you for the massage. It was truly wonderful.” She snuggled down in the bed, feeling warm and relaxed and well cared for. And as she snuggled, her hand brushed something, and she froze.

A little smile fought to escape her. He obviously didn’t object to the smell of camphor in the least. “Mr. Blacklock.”

“Hmm?

“You didn’t tell me the truth, Mr. Blacklock.”

“Go to sleep; you’re worn out.”

“But you are stiff, and I think you do need a massage. Or something.” Her hand encircled the stiffness she had encountered.

He groaned. “Are you sure you’re not too tired?”

“Oh no, I feel just wonderful,” she said and squeezed.

They left the inn in midmorning.

“We will not leave so late again, madam. It is imperative that we travel as far as possible each day,” Nick informed his wife in a brusque voice.