Authors: Gloria Harchar
Cantering up to the pink-and-
yellow
building he
'
d ordered restored for her, he frowned. Mrs. Rooster and her skinny friend were exiting, their
arms full of
ribbons
and hats
. After glancing both up and down the street, she snapped her fingers and a long, cylindrical object suddenly appeared in her hand, resembling a key. She locked the door and, after a twist of her wrist the key vanished, the pair turned and walked down the street. The rooster
followed, its strut very similar to that of its mistress.
Where was
Nicola
? Fierce protectiveness swept over
Malcolm
. These women were up to no good. He approached them, riding Mohammed almost up on the walk.
"
What are you doing with my wife
'
s key?
"
Mrs. Rooster
'
s
eyes
widened. His dark reputation was good to intimidate people, he thought grimly.
Both women curtsied awkwardly, their arms full. Would they scurry away? No, he wouldn
'
t let them. In order to get answers, he would run them both down if he had to.
Mrs. Rooster looked up at him in his saddle and smiled.
"
Lady
Nicola
told us to take what we want.
"
"
Her supplies?
"
"
Didn
'
t you know? She has decided to quit hat making.
"
"
What do you mean?
"
He couldn
'
t believe it unless something tragic had happened. From what he
'
d heard from these two, he wouldn
'
t put it past them to be involved with deflating poor
Nicola
. The thought of his bright flower, dimmed with disillusionment, enraged him.
The thin woman adjusted her supply of red sprigged material.
"
Lady
Nicola
is giving away all her supplies. She doesn
'
t want to make hats, after all.
"
"
She heard you gossiping.
"
He made his voice silky, low and threatening.
"
Yes
, she did,
"
Mrs. Rooster admitted.
"
And she quite agreed with us about her lack of talent, because, you see, she has suspected for quite some time that hat design was not her forte.
"
He
frowned, wondering why the wome
n weren
'
t scuttling away from him. The
rooster owner
gazed at him, a pleasant expression on her
oblong
face. In fact, she looked bloody friendly.
"
Are you feeling all right, madam?
"
"
How nice of you to ask. I
'
m feeling wonderful and, by the b
ye
, my name is Prudence.
"
The thin woman cleared her throat, the sound oddly flutelike.
"
And I
'
m Beatrice Soprano. We are great admirers of yours.
"
He was flabbergasted, and wondered if he
'
d heard correctly.
"
You are?
"
"
Why,
ye
s. We think it
'
s wonderful that you have returned. You are a great asset to this community.
"
He didn
'
t know what to say to that. Had the women been out in the sun too long? Had the rooster crowed too early this morning, giving them both a lack of sleep?
Mrs. Smith stepped forward and actually patted his foot in the stirrup.
"
Humility is a good trait in a man. That all men could be as strong of character as you.
"
Both women were definitely dicked in the nob. Given that conclusion, he knew
Nicola
couldn
'
t be as calm about her failure with hats as she let on in front of them. With these strange women
'
s almost elfin features and mysterious ways, they seemed to be from another land, not of earth. Perhaps their interpretation of
Nicola
'
s emotional state was as off the mark as their sudden admiration for him.
"
Where is my wife?
"
Mrs. Rooster
smiled.
"
Oh, she went riding. She told us she does her best creative thinking while she rides. She
'
s probably already hatching a new hobby.
"
He would be more apt to believe she was riding in an attempt to overcome despair.
"
Do you have any idea where she went?
"
It galled him to have to ask.
The thin woman cleared her throat.
"
I believe she likes to ride along the Nene River, just a few miles north of the village.
"
He didn
'
t waste any more time on them. The urge to protect
Nicola
was new, and he still didn
'
t understand it entirely. But since he could never give her the husbandly love she apparently wanted from him, it was his responsibility to make her happy in every other aspect of her life. His soul was too black, too twisted for her bright aura.
He barely resisted the urge to gallop out of town. Mohammed quivered beneath his thighs, and he knew the horse sensed his impatience. When the last building was behind, he urged the animal to a faster gait, all the while wondering what he would say to
Nicola
when he discovered her. What did he know about making someone happy? Nothing. His brother had been the one to please others, to know the words to say in awkward situations, not him. On the contrary, he
'
d only managed to rouse distrust.
Could he convince her not to listen to gossip? That those women were bored and didn
'
t have anything else to do but slander? Was he doing her justice if he lied to her? No. Damn, what would he tell her? Perhaps he could persuade her to pursue the other hobbies that normal ladies
enjoyed
.
Nicola
... normal? She was the most unusual, most fascinating woman he
'
d ever met. Nevertheless, he had to find something to occupy her time. He could offer to hire a tutor to teach her the finer points of sketc
hing, of painting landscapes or portraits ….
He cut through a field, the shortest route to the Nene River. He barely noted the profusion of wildflowers as he scanned the landscape for a glimpse of his wife. He headed for the line of trees that edged the river.
As he neared the grove, a movement in a cluster of purple flowers caught his e
ye
. He saw
Nicola
bent over, poking at something among the foliage.
She must have heard his approach, because she looked up.
"
Hello, my lord,
"
she called, frowning a little, then studying the ground.
Warily he approached her. When he was within a few feet, he hauled back on Mohammed
'
s reins. Dirt smudged her chin, cheeks and gown. Shocked at her filthy state, he stared as she bent down toward the grass. Even her head was bare, the strawberry-blond strands glinting in the sunlight.
Was she suffering some sort of breakdown? Just to be safe, he gentled his tone.
"
What are you doing?
"
"
Digging for grubs.
"
Alarm swept through him.
"
Why?
"
"
Because they
'
re pretty.
"
She really was wrong in the upper story. All the upset had gotten to her.
Dismounting, he dropped his reins and let Mohammed graze. Then, as if she were a frightened colt, he slowly circled
Nicola
. When he neared, he saw her small shovel with which she was vigorously stabbing clumps of clay. Probably to vent her frustrations.
"
You
'
re upset.
"
Damn, what was he going to do?
"
No, I
'
m not.
"
She glanced up at him,
eyes
wide. Then her mouth thinned as she looked down at the hole she
'
d dug.
"
Come on, where are you, you little creatures?
"
To his consternation,
Malcolm
had no idea o
n how to approach her. Perhaps
if he tried patience as he
'
d seen his brother do, he could reason with her.
"
Ah, the grubs are magical, too. Do they talk to you?
"
he asked, feeling ridiculous for it.
She rolled her
eyes
.
"
Of course not, silly.
"