The Perfect Stranger (37 page)

Anyway, this part of the trip was for Stevens. And for Nick. He’d built a cairn of stones over Algy’s grave. He was sure he could find it again. It was on the heights overlooking the battlefield. He’d carried Algy’s body up there, not wanting him to be buried in the mass graves that were being dug. Not for Algy, his lifelong friend.

The mist swirled up ahead, thickening, enclosing them in a moist chill. “Capt’n, if this gets much worse, we won’t be able to see. I think we’d better look for lodgings in the next village,” Stevens called from behind.

Nick shrugged indifferently.

“Are you sure that this is where they’re going?” Faith asked for the third time, urging her horse around the sharp bend. She averted her eyes from the chasm on her right.

“I don’t know for sure,” Morton Black responded with weary patience, “but that fellow Stevens did say they’d be going to Vittoria eventually. His son is buried there.”

“Yes, he is. But they might have gone to take Estrellita to her great-grandmother.”

“They might. Wherever that is. We don’t know anything for sure, Mrs. Blacklock. But I am good at finding people, and I say we go to Vittoria and wait.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose so.” Having left the boat in such a dramatic fashion, Faith had imagined she’d be able to gallop up to Nicholas as she did that other time, surprising him on the way after an hour or so. But another day had passed, and she was feeling tired and dispirited. It was taking an eternity to get through these mountains, and she was wet and cold and very much afraid that they had taken the wrong route and that she’d lost Nicholas forever.

The mist thickened and grew heavier, and as the afternoon wore on, it settled into a steady, streaming downpour. Faith pulled her hat lower on her forehead and plodded on, blindly trusting in her horse to find the path.

After some time Morton Black came level with her. She looked up, surprised. The narrow track had opened up into a sort of natural terrace overlooking a wide valley. Faith’s spirits rose marginally; in the valley would be a village or town, and shelter.

Morton Black leaned across and said in her ear. “Hush, I heard a voice up ahead.”

Faith could not see or hear anything. “Nicholas!” she exclaimed, but before she could urge her horse forward, Black grabbed her reins and led both horses off the track, behind some bushes.

“Don’t be foolish! These mountains are full of bandits. I will investigate. Wait here, off the track, behind these bushes. Get your pistol ready, but keep it under cover so it does not get wet. And keep your powder dry, too.” He did not wait for her to answer but climbed stiffly off his horse—he’d done amazingly well for a man with a wooden leg—handed her the reins, and disappeared into the night.

Faith waited. And waited. She fingered the pistol nervously. This time she might actually have to use it on a man.

After what seemed like an endless time she heard a shout. She clutched the pistol tighter and braced herself.

Then it came again, and this time she heard the words. “Faith? Faith? Where are you?” It was Nicholas, her Nicholas.

Joyfully she urged her horse forward, and in seconds she’d been plucked off it and was in her husband’s arms being soundly kissed. “I’m furious with you,” he growled and kissed her again. “Look at you—you’re soaked to the skin! And freezing, dammit!” He unbuttoned his greatcoat and drew her under it against his big, warm body. “I probably ought to beat you for disobedience, Mrs. Blacklock,” he growled, kissing her again, hard. “But first I’ll get you to some sort of shelter.”

Faith didn’t answer. She was laughing and wiping tears or rain from her eyes and kissing him back. There would be a reckoning on both sides, but not just yet.

He rode on with Faith on the saddle in front of him, wrapped in his greatcoat, clasped against his heart. Morton Black followed, leading Faith’s horse. They found the others and were swiftly on their way, a bedraggled group of travelers. Even Beowulf looked cold and wet and miserable, the once jaunty red ribbons limp, muddy, and bedraggled.

They traveled in single file for nearly an hour more, Beowulf leading the way, and then suddenly the dog snuffed the ground, then started barking.

“Hush up, Wulf! We’re nearly there. Get on, ye stupid beast,” Mac shouted, but the dog kept barking, his tail wagging furiously. Ignoring his master’s shouts, he ran a short way along a narrow, almost invisible trail up to the right, then came back, barking and leaping with excitement.

“Come, Wulf!” Mac urged his horse along the road.

But the dog stood in front of his horse and growled and barked. Not surprisingly, the horse wouldn’t proceed.

“What’s wrong with that blasted dog?” Nicholas swore. “Get him out of the way, Mac! I want to get my wife to shelter!”

Mac shook his head, mystified. “I’ve never seen him act like this, Cap’n.” He glanced at the direction the dog was making short runs toward. “He doesna want us to go on the road. He wants us to go up this wee track.” He gave Nicholas a doubtful look. “Mebbe the main road is dangerous—a rockfall or something. Maybe the beast can tell, wi’ his animal instincts.”

Nick swore again. “Very well, let’s try the track if that’s what you want, but I’m warning you, Mac—if it leads nowhere, I’ll throttle the blasted dog myself!” He tightened his hold on Faith, and she felt warmed by his concern. She knew he’d never hurt the dog. It was all bluster, worry for her comfort.

They followed Beowulf for another ten minutes or so until the track petered out at a ramshackle stone cottage, built into what seemed to be a natural hollow or cave in the hillside. A chink of light showed through wooden shutters.

Nicholas was none too happy. He cut Mac’s apologies short, snapping, “Well, get down man, and see if they’ll let us shelter here the night, or at least until this wretched rain ceases. It’s damn near sleet! There’s room enough in that cave, for the animals and us as well, at a pinch!”

Mac dismounted and rapped on the cottage door.

One of the shutters opened, and a small, piquant face peered suspiciously out. Suspicion turned to shock, then joy, then back to suspicion.

“Wulfie? Tavish?” It was Estrellita, her face far from welcoming. “Stop that noise at once, Wulfie!” The dog immediately stopped and wagged his tail ingratiatingly.

She looked around suspiciously. “Where is Cap’n Nick?”

“I’m here,” Nick said. “Let us in, Estrellita. My wife is wet to the skin and frozen.”

Estrellita shook her head. “Why you follow me? Go away, Cap’n Nick. You not hurt The Old One!”

“We didna follow you; the dog brought us here,” Mac growled. “I’ve better things to do than follow runaways!”

Nick added, “And I’m damn well not going to hurt your great-grandmother, you stupid girl! How many times do I have to tell you? Now let us in. Faith is soaked to the skin!”

“Don’t you shout at me!” Estrellita shouted back. “Faith, she can stay, but the rest of you, go away!”

The scene looked set to degenerate into a farce, with Estrellita shouting from the window and Mac and Nicholas shouting back, and the dog, who’d started barking again, but in the middle of it all, the door opened and a tiny, ancient woman dressed in dusty black shuffled out.

There was a sudden, shocked silence. Even the dog stopped barking.

She was small and frail, her face a mass of wrinkles. “Welcome to my house,” she said in careful Spanish. “You are expected.” She stood back, clearly inviting them in.

They dismounted. Stevens took the reins of all the horses, and he and Morton Black led the horses into the cave shelter, saying they’d see to the horses while the others sorted out what was what.

Estrellita hurried to the door and stood arguing with the old lady in some incomprehensible language. She saw Faith and said hastily, “Sorry, but I not want your husband here. Come in. Faith—you all wet! You can come, but no mans!”

The old lady snapped something, and waved her aside. Estrellita looked mutinous but obeyed.

The old woman looked at Faith. “You are wet, child. Come. Is warm and dry here.” She held out her hand, and Faith took it. She felt a tingle and, startled, glanced at the old lady’s face. Her dark eyes seemed to glow with warmth and kindness as she looked at Faith.

She looked at the waiting men and said, “You welcome also. Hush, Estrellita!” She turned back. “My house is your house. Come!”

Mac entered first. She tipped her head back and looked shrewdly up at him. She held out her hand to him, unsmiling. “You I have heard of.” It did not sound like a compliment.

Mac took the wizened little claw in his big paw and shook it gingerly, as if fearful it would break. She held on to his hand a long moment, then nodded as if satisfied. Mac bent his head and entered the small cottage, rubbing his hand with a thoughtful expression.

Nick, following Mac, offered his hand, but the old woman pulled back, refusing to touch him. Remembering Estrellita’s absurd fears, Nick decided not to take offense. He simply nodded as he stepped inside.

The cottage consisted of one room and smelled deliciously of herbs and soup and warmth. There was a bed in one corner, a table in the middle, and a bench and shelves along several sides. Brightly colored handmade rugs were scattered thickly on the floor. They would be necessary, Faith thought, as the floor was the stone of the cave and would be very cold.

It was an oddly shaped dwelling, nothing like anything Faith had ever seen before. The walls were crooked and curved, and the whole structure had been built to fit the shape of the cave. Only the wall with the door and the shuttered window was straight, and they looked out across the valley into the sky.

Her little sister, Grace, would love this, she thought suddenly. It was exactly the sort of cottage a pixie or an elf would live in.

A fire was burning, and there was a large pot of soup hanging over it. The smell was delicious. The old woman ordered a blanket hung up and behind it, Faith was stripped of her clothing, rubbed dry, and under the old woman’s supervision clad in clothing brought out of a chest. Clearly it was meant for ceremonial occasions, for it was stiff and heavy with embroidery. Faith was reluctant to wear it, but the old lady insisted. She had an imperious air.

On the other side of the blanket the men stripped and wrapped themselves in blankets. Mac draped his blanket around his body like a Scottish plaid, fastening it around the middle with his leather belt, and the others copied. Soon the small room was steaming with the scent of wet wool—and wet dog, for Estrellita had insisted Wulfie be brought inside—not so much because she wanted him close, but because she feared for her great-grandmother’s chickens outside.

Once the dividing curtain between the men and women had been removed, however, the room grew silent and tense.

Nicholas looked Faith over in her gorgeously colored peasant dress, but said only, “Would you care to step outside, madam? I think we have things to discuss.”

She met his look with a defiantly lifted chin. “By all means, sir. We do indeed have things to discuss.”

It was still pouring, but the cottage door opened into the shelter of the big, shallow cave, so they didn’t get wet. They were forced to talk in the cave, however, with several goats, their horses, and a dozen chickens watching. Nick strode into the center of the space. His lower limbs were bare, and he wore a blue and white striped blanket wrapped around his middle, then up his back, coming over his shoulder and tucked into a belt at his waist. He looked like a cross between a Scottish Highlander and a Roman senator.

“Why the devil did you follow me, madam?”

“Don’t madam me, Nicholas. You lied to me!”

“Nonsen—”

“You did. You let me believe you were on a military mission!”

He looked uncomfortable. “I said no such thing. You put that interpretation on my words—”

“As you meant me to.”

He looked away awkwardly. “I meant it for the best.”

All Faith’s hurt and anger drained away at the anguish in his eyes. “I know,” she said softly. “But it doesn’t work like that. I want to be with you, Nicholas.”

“No! You cannot know what—”

“I know. Morton Black told me. He spoke to your doctor.”

Nicholas swore softly. “He had no business to blab!”

“I am your wife. I have the right to know.”

“You don’t need to be with—”

Again she cut him off. “You worry that I will suffer like your mother—and yes, I probably will. But I will suffer more if you send me away, unwanted.”

“Not unwanted,” he croaked.

“Unwanted. That’s how I felt before, when you sent me away.”

He shook his head, but she continued, determined to make him understand. “And how do you think I would have felt later, knowing you’d—you’d died alone, without me? I married you for better or worse, Nicholas my darling, and, and—” She bit her lip, unable to say the words. “And no one, not even you, can make me break that promise. It is my right, Nicholas.”

And still he said nothing, so she said quietly, “If I were the one who was dying, would you abandon me to my fate?”

His head came up at that. No, he would not, she saw, and left him to digest the realization in silence. Eventually he said, “I warn you, it will not be pretty!”

She stared at him in disbelief. “Pretty?” she whispered. “Pretty? You stupid, bloody man. As if I care about that. I would face anything, endure anything for you. I would die for you if I could. I love you. I don’t care about anything else.” Her face crumpled, and she ran at him and thumped him on the arm, “And if you must die, you stupid bloody stubborn man, you’ll damn well die in my arms, where you belong!”

Chapter Fifteen

If our two loves be one, or thou and I

Love so alike that none do slacken, none can die.