Susan Spencer Paul (3 page)

“My maid was a girl who came from the village,” Rosaleen said truthfully, though guiltily. Jeanne had lived in the village, but Castle Siere had more than eighty other servants who had come from all parts of England.

Hugh nodded. “I see.” He strode to the window again. Once there, he leaned out, saw something he had evidently been looking for and turned back into the room.

He fixed a leather strap around his left arm and sent a sharp whistle out the window. With a great deal of flap
ping, a compact, fierce-looking gyrfalcon settled on his wrist, and he drew her into the room.

“Sweet baby,” he cooed to the magnificent creature. “Little darling. My beautiful Amazon.”

Rosaleen sat on the bed, her hands in her lap, and watched with interest as Hugh Caldwell filled his mouth with water from a nearby cup, then bent his handsome head to let the bird drink the liquid as it dripped slowly from his lips. When the hunter had drunk her fill, Hugh Caldwell began to hum a little tune to her, over and over, the same simple tones in repetition, which kept the wild bird entranced so that he could set a hood over her head. Once the hood was fixed the bird was perfectly docile, and he proceeded to handle her deftly, tightening the jesses on her legs and setting her on the back of a chair to perch while he went about packing his things.

“She’s beautiful,” Rosaleen murmured appreciatively.

In the midst of stuffing his lute into a traveling bag, Hugh paused. His head shot up and he grinned at her. “You know about birds, then?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied without thinking. “I’ve many fine birds of my own at—” she stopped herself just in time “-home.”

“Do you? I used to have several myself, when I was a lad. Amazon’s been with me this past year. She’s quite young yet.”

Rosaleen looked at the bird with open admiration. In her mews at Siere there were many fine hunting birds, and she was skilled in using them during hunts, but never had she seen a more promising gyrfalcon than the one Hugh Caldwell possessed. It occurred to her that there was more to him than met the eye. Perhaps he wasn’t a knight, but no ordinary man could possibly possess such a creature, or afford one, either.

“She hasn’t any bells,” she commented, still watching as he continued to pack his things.

Hugh didn’t stop this time as he tied the strings of his bag together. “No, she hasn’t,” he replied, straightening and lifting Amazon from her perch. “Well then, Rosaleen no-name,” he said as he toted the bag up over one shoulder, “goodbye. It has been more pleasant than I could ever say, and I do hope you’ll find your way to London with ease.”

He started for the door, and Rosaleen shot up off the bed.

“What!” she shrieked.

He stopped just in front of the door.

“I said goodbye.”

“I know what you said! What do you mean by it?”

His expression was openly bewildered. “I mean goodbye. I was not aware there was another meaning to theword.”

“But you cannot mean to say that you’re leaving!”

“I can’t?”

“Well, no, of course not! I’m not ready to go. I haven’t yet eaten to break my fast, and I don’t know where my things are, though perhaps you’ve taken care of that already. They were on my mount, and you have taken care of my horse, have you not?”

“Ah, no, I haven’t,” Hugh replied. “I didn’t even know you had a horse.”

“Of course I had a horse!” she stated, wondering at how slow-witted he was. “How do you think I came to be here otherwise? Oh Lord!” she said with a groan. “I imagine he must have been stolen. I was in such a state when I arrived here that I didn’t even think to stable him. Everything I had was on him. All my money, my change of clothing, everything!”

“Well, that’s a stroke of bad luck, Rosaleen, and I’m sorry,” Hugh said sincerely. “Listen, I’ve a good bit of money at the moment. I’d be happy to give you enough to help you get started…”

But Rosaleen wasn’t listening to him. She cut him off with an imperious wave of her hand. “Never mind. It’s too late to cry over what’s been done, and it was my own fault, really, for not stabling the beast. You shall simply have to purchase another mount for me, and I shall have to make do with the clothes you’ve provided until we arrive in London.”

Hugh blinked rapidly, certain he hadn’t heard right. “We?” he repeated.

Rosaleen paced the room. “I shall need clean linen to cover my hair, and a brush, of course. If you would go now and ask the innkeeper’s wife to bring me those two items along with some bread and cheese, I shall shortly be ready to leave.” She stopped pacing and glanced at him. “You may make the arrangements for my mount while I’m eating.”

When he simply stood there and stared at her, Rosaleen fluttered her hands as if to shoo him on his way. “Hurry, Hugh Caldwell. We’ve no time to waste. My uncle will be looking everywhere for me, so we must be on our way at once. How many days do you think it will take us to reach London?”

“Far fewer than you think, lady,” Hugh replied stiffly. “I’m not taking you to London.”

“But of course you are. You have to.”

“What I have to do, sweet, is get myself on my way. I’ve surprised even myself by playing the gallant and watching over you these past two days, but don’t think I’ve a mind to do any more. Now, I’m willing to leave you enough gold
to get you to London, but that’s all I’m willing to do. Take it or leave it.”

“Your sense of humor is not only badly timed,” Rosaleen chided, “it is sadly improper.”

“And your understanding, mistress, is slower than a turtle’s pace. What makes you think I’d take you to London?”

God’s mercy! Rosaleen thought with irritation. The man was as dense as a tree. “How can you ask such a thing?

Surely you know your duty as a gentleman!”

Shock possessed Hugh’s features for a long, silent moment, and then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh. “My duty as
a what?
As a
gentleman?
God’s bones, mistress, but it’s been a long while since I’ve been so amused. I’ve already told you that I am no chivalrous knight, and if you could possibly think me gentle then you must have no care whatsoever for what passed between us last night in that bed behind you.”

Rosaleen gasped out loud. “What!”

Hugh’s laughter died into a very masculine grin, and he fixed her with a decidedly warm gaze. “Do you not remember, little one? Do you remember nothing at all? Or did you think perhaps you had only dreamed it? You were so sweet and warm, so responsive, that I would have wagered all I own that you’d not forget a single moment of what we shared.”

“Oh!” Rosaleen cried. “Oh! You’re lying! They
were
dreams!”

Hugh lowered his bag and set Amazon atop it to perch. Then he straightened and very slowly approached Rosaleen, who backed away from him. “They were not dreams, sweeting, and I should be most happy to renew your memory, if you like. Now, do you still think me gentle? Do
you still wish to spend all those lonely nights on the road to London with me?”

Rosaleen rounded the other side of the bed, moving away from him as quickly as he followed. She wasn’t frightened of him, she was furious. In fact, she wanted to kill him.

“You
swine!
You despicable knave! How dare you! How
could
you! I was a maiden, you wretched beast! I-I’ll have you hanged for this!”

Hugh stopped and chuckled. “You truly don’t remember, do you, sweet? I may be a knave and a swine, but I’m not so base that I’d take advantage of a half-conscious female. If you were a maiden last night then you are a maiden still.”

“And I may be an ignorant girl, Hugh Caldwell, but I’m not a fool!” she cried. “You touched me!”

Hugh inclined his head. “ ‘Struth, I did indeed touch you, lovely Rosaleen, and enjoyed every moment. But touch is all I did. You were restless and cried in your sleep. I only tried to comfort you. That’s all. Most gentlemanly of me, do you not think?”

Rosaleen didn’t believe him. The memories she had of his hands and mouth moving over her were dim, true, but they were there all the same. “You did m-more than t-touch me, you lecherous fiend!”

Hugh’s grin was fully masculine. “A little more, yes, my lady. I considered it repayment for my kindness in taking care of you.” He eyed her appreciatively. “Verily, sweeting, I have never been so pleased with any recompense in my life. Shall we get started for London, then?”

“You’re an animal!” she shouted, pointing at the door. “Leave then, you wretched, unchivalrous rat!
Get out!
I wouldn’t go one step in your company, you…you…
ravisher!” Hugh laughed and turned toward the door. In a rage, Rosaleen followed. “And when I get to London, I’ll have a warrant put out for you, signed by the king’s own hand, you…you…defiler! I swear by God’s holy name, I shall!”

“Good lack, woman! If this is the kind of abuse you heaped upon your uncle’s head, it isn’t a wonder he beat you so!” He stopped at a small table near the door and dug his coin bag out of his tunic. “Here,” he said, placing several coins down. “I shouldn’t be so merciful to such a shrew, but this ought to be enough to—”

“How dare you!” she screeched from right behind him, so that when Hugh turned he bumped into her. “First you abuse me, you…you…seducer! And then you try to pay me off like the veriest whore, you…you…”

“God’s bones, I did not ravish you!” Hugh insisted, barely ducking in time when she picked up the coins and threw them at his head. “Calm yourself, Rosaleen! I only meant to help you, not hand you an insult.”

“The only way you can help me is to get out of my sight!”

“All right, all right! I’m going!” He picked up Amazon and reshouldered his bag. “First you say I can’t go, and then you throw me out. What a wild creature you are, Rosaleen no-name. Your gratitude for my care these past two days is overwhelming, indeed.”

“Oh!” she gasped, taking a swing at him. “How dare you, you…you… great randy goat! If you think to wait until I thank you for deflowering me, then you’ll be waiting until Satan’s breath blows cold!”

“I did
not,”
he said with growing anger, “deflower you! If you don’t quiet yourself, my sweet, I’m going to take you back to that bed and show you exactly what I did do!”

“Get out!” she shouted. “And when you get downstairs I wish you to send up one of the friends who stood with you the other night. Surely one of them will be chivalrous enough to help a lady in plight.”

“You are quite right, my lady. Any one of my friends would have been pleased to play the good chivalrous fellow for you, more fool they, but they are gone, having left yesterday morn, as I, myself, should have done and now wish to God that I had!” He drew in a breath, then said more calmly, “I fear you shall have to seek London on your own, as you did before you ever came to this place.”

Rosaleen froze, staring at him in surprise, as though he had struck her, and then she did the inexplicable. Her face crumpled and her eyes filled with tears.

“But I can’t.”

Hugh looked away, thoroughly aggravated. “You were planning on going alone before,” he said gruffly. “If you’d let me leave you a little money you could still do it.” It was a damned lie, and he knew it. A woman on the open road, alone, was as defenseless to every rogue and knave who came her way as a newborn mouse might be against Amazon.

She shook her head and spoke more to herself than to him. “I learned very well two nights ago that I will need protection. I
must
get to London. I must.” She turned and walked back to the bed, wringing her hands. Sitting on the mattress, she bowed her head and was quiet.

Hugh cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll be fine. Goodbye, Rosaleen. Good luck.”

She said nothing, only kept her head bowed. Her fingers laced and unlaced in a worried rhythm.

“I said goodbye, Rosaleen. Godspeed.”

“Yes, yes,” she mumbled tearfully. “Goodbye.”

He opened the door and walked out, shaking his head to rid it of the memory of her sitting so unhappily on the edge of the same bed where he had spent some exceedingly enjoyable hours with her. Well, he’d be damned if he’d feel guilty about that, he told himself as he made his way down the stairs to the main room. She had enjoyed herself quite as much as he had, though she didn’t remember it yet. And he
had
considered it repayment for all the trouble he’d gone through. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. She was a beautiful girl; any other man would have used her much differently had he had the chance.

The innkeeper was standing behind his serving board when Hugh walked in, and the little man smiled in greeting.

“Well, sir, are you on your way, then?”

“Yes, I’m on my way,” Hugh replied. “The lady is feeling better this morn, and would like some food to break her fast with. She also wishes the use of a brush and needs clean linen to cover her hair. See that she has all she desires.” He tossed the innkeeper a couple of gold coins and watched with disdain as the man pocketed the money with lusty greed.

“That I will, my lord,” the man promised quickly. “The lady be well satisfied, I vow. Will there be anything else, my lord?”

Hugh gave the man a considering glance and wondered how far he could trust him. The innkeeper was willing enough now, when a fighting man was present, but how would Rosaleen fare once he’d ridden away? Aside from that, he hated the way the man spoke of her, as though Rosaleen were naught but a whore flaunting herself as something better.

He struggled for a long moment, telling himself sternly that he was going to regret this. If he only could have expelled the image of her sitting so defeated and miserable on the edge of that damned bed, he might have won.

“The
lady,”
he said curtly, emphasizing the word, “will need a good mount. Is there anyone in this godforsaken village who owns a decent horse he’d be willing to sell?”

“I
am
not
taking you to London.”

They’d been traveling together for only half a day, and already Hugh felt like strangling her.

“You needn’t be so intemperate, sir,” Rosaleen stated from where she rode beside him on a tiny brown mare that made his own magnificent black steed look like some mighty and fabled creature. “It certainly wasn’t
my
idea that we go anywhere together. And if you think that escorting me to London will stop me from issuing a warrant for your arrest, you are sadly mistaken. I intend to go straight to the king regarding the matter of my ruin, and when he hangs you, I shall be at the very front of the crowd, cheering the executioner on.”

Hugh gritted his teeth and wondered what sin he had ever committed to make him suffer this fate.

“Rosaleen, I am going to say this one more time, and if you ever again mention the matter I shall make you exceedingly sorry. Listen well, lady. You are still a maiden. I did not ruin you. And I am damned well
not
taking you to London!”

She perched as high as she could in her saddle, trying in vain to level herself with Hugh Caldwell.

“Then what good do you do me?” she demanded. “I’ve told you over and again that I must get to London as quickly as possible, yet you refuse to tell me how taking me to your brother will help me in getting there. Don’t you understand anything? I must get to London!”

“I understand perfectly, Rosaleen,” Hugh replied with what he felt was admirable calm, considering the measure of his vexation. “And I promise that my brother will be able to help you. He is a man of no small influence and can help you attain whatever goal you have. He could even get you an audience with King Henry, if you desired it.”

With a sigh, Rosaleen settled back into her saddle and turned her eyes to the road. Hugh Caldwell was lying, there could be no mistake of that. What would such a man as he know about influence? His brother was probably a pig farmer, a big man in some unknown village who held a few dozen ignorant peasants in thrall. And as for Hugh Caldwell himself.. .well! She didn’t care how handsome he was or how handy with a sword. He was as bad as a pig himself. Worse, even, for he hadn’t the faintest idea of how to treat a lady.

“How far away is this so esteemed brother of yours?” she asked, thinking that she must start planning anew her route to London.

He sounded grim as he answered, “Two days’ ride. No more than that.”

“You live with your brother, then? In the same village?”

“No.” He kept his eyes on the road ahead. “I’ve not been home in over ten years. In truth, I have no home.”

“Really?” Rosaleen’s womanly heart responded to the sad note of his reply. “That seems very strange. Ten years! Did something happen to keep you from returning to your family? A fight with your brother?”.

He shook his head. “No fight, Rosaleen, and you may keep your curiosity to yourself. It’s no concern of yours, just as you are no concern of mine. I’ll take you to my brother and leave you in his care, and then I shall be on my way. If God is truly gracious, we’ll never set eyes on one another again.”

“Save on the day of your execution, of course,” Rosaleen returned sweetly. “Will not your brother be surprised to see you after ten years?”

Hugh made a snorting sound. “You’ve no need to worry, Rosaleen. He’ll not turn you away. You’ll get to London.”

“That’s not what I meant. And I can very well get to London without any help from you, Hugh Caldwell, so you needn’t think I’m worried about anything at all. I simply wondered whether your brother wouldn’t be surprised to see you. And what of the rest of your family? What will they think to have you suddenly come riding into your village after having been gone so long? Why, if it’s truly been ten years, you must have been little more than a child when you left.”

Hugh laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “God’s bones, what a chattering little creature you are, Rosaleen no-name. And if you’re not worried about anything at all, then why do you keep looking about as though you expect someone to jump out at us any moment?”

“I’m not…” Rosaleen stopped herself. In truth, she
was
worried. They were traveling on a main road, out in the open for any and all to see. She had tried to impress upon Hugh Caldwell the need to ride more secretively, but the arrogant beast had insisted they would be fine…kept safe by himself, of course. It would serve him right if her uncle and all his men came riding down upon their heads.

“Why will you not answer my questions?” she asked, changing the subject. “How old were you when you left home? Ten and five years of age? Ten and six?”

“I’ll not let anything happen to you, Rosaleen,” he assured her, changing the subject, as well, “and I’ll certainly not let anything happen to
me,
so you may rest easy.”

“Well, God’s mercy, Hugh Caldwell, I’m glad to hear it,” Rosaleen replied with sarcastic relief. “I’d not want anything to happen to you, either, before I get a chance to see you hang.”

Hugh sighed loudly. “You, my sweet, are a true example of the gentle flower of womanhood. Your sharp tongue causes me to wonder if your uncle wasn’t beating the wrong person. It seems that the one who’d need the forcing would be the man picked to marry you, not the other way around.”

Rosaleen gasped furiously. “Oh!”

“What a dread fate it would be,” Hugh continued pleasantly, “waking each morn to be greeted by that sharp little tongue. On the other hand, of course, there is your soft body to make some recompense for your shrewish nature, as I know firsthand.” He grinned at her lecherously.

“Why, you…you…you…”

Hugh clucked and shook his head. “No, I cannot think even that would make marriage to you a pleasant prospect. Are you certain this fellow your uncle chose
wanted
to wed you, Rosaleen? I find it very hard to believe.”

“Oh, you wretch!” She knew very well that he was baiting her, purposefully trying to anger her. She knew, too, that she was behaving exactly like the shrew he called her. It wasn’t like her to behave so badly, but then, she had never before found herself in the company of such a crude,
infuriating man. “Yes, he wished to wed me, though you may choose not to believe it if you like. In truth, Hugh Caldwell, I don’t care what you believe of me.”

Hugh was disappointed with her tame answer. He had insulted her so beautifully that he’d been certain she would have flown into a good rage at the very least. Instead, she seemed to have understood his intent and had calmed herself and answered readily. She was smart, little Rosaleen no-name, and if there was one thing Hugh avoided as he would the plague, it was smart females. He’d have to keep his wits about him or he’d shortly find himself behaving decently, and the ten years he’d spent cultivating himself to do otherwise would be for naught. He’d already been too damned nice to her as it was. In truth, it might be said that he’d behaved chivalrously, a thought that actually made him shudder.

“I see,” he said. “Then if your chosen mate was so hot to wed you, sweet, what was the trouble? Was he not to your liking? Or wasn’t he good enough for such a fine lady?”

He’d meant the words as he meant everything he said, mockingly, but her reaction, the look on her face, made him regret speaking them.

Rosaleen shut her eyes and tried to push away the image of Simon of Denning. “No, he was just so…” How could she explain? How could she put Sir Simon’s huge, terrifying hands…hands matted with the blackest of hair, hands that groped and squeezed and hurt…how could she put them into words? How could she relate his cruelty, his lust, his strength, which made her know only too well how easily he could crush her to his will when it pleased him to do so? God’s mercy! She didn’t want to think of him! She didn’t want to remember what it felt like to be shoved up against a wall and held there by the weight of his hard
body, fighting nausea when he vised her jaw between two strong fingers and forcibly opened her mouth so that he could thrust his tongue inside, or wincing at the pain of his strong fingers squeezing and pinching her breasts, or wanting so much to faint so she wouldn’t have to feel the hardness of his sex as he rhythmically rocked it against her, speaking his crude, filthy words about what he was going to do to her when they were finally wed.

Twice he had actually found his pleasure with her that way, pushing himself against her, grunting like a hog eating its swill, until he finally shuddered with his release. Rosaleen had almost been relieved when he had, for at least he had let her go and, with the laughter of contentment, had patted her like a dog and jested of how he would have to suffer with the wetness she had wrought in his chausses.

He’d been so pleased on those two occasions, so pleased, while she had felt so sick and helpless.

“Rosaleen.” Hugh Caldwell spoke to her. She felt a gentle touch on her cheek. “Rosaleen.” His voice was strangely tender.

She opened her eyes.

The horses had stopped moving, and she and Hugh Caldwell were sitting on their mounts in the middle of the road, perfectly still. He was leaning down from his higher position, gazing at her with an expression of deep concern while his hand stroked her cheek. He was such a beautiful sight that she couldn’t help but stare.

“What?” she asked dumbly. She couldn’t remember what they’d been discussing.

He ran his thumb over her cheek. “Are you all right, little sweeting?”

“Yes,” she whispered, still staring at him. She never wanted to stop, for when she looked at Hugh Caldwell she didn’t think even vaguely about Simon of Denning.

Rosaleen’s skin felt softer than silk beneath Hugh’s callused hand, and he didn’t want to stop touching her. The change she’d undergone when she’d thought of the man her uncle had betrothed her to had first stunned, then enraged him. It was clear that the man had hurt her badly, else her beautiful face never would have grown so stricken. He wanted to kill the bastard. He wanted to wipe that look of misery off Rosaleen’s face. Permanently. All he could think of at the moment, however, was a temporary solution. And she would probably never know what a sacrifice it was.

Slowly he withdrew his hand and straightened in his saddle.

“I was ten and six when I left my home,” he announced, nudging his steed, Saint, forward.

Rosaleen’s little mare followed, as Hugh had expected she would, and in a moment her mistress had shaken her dismals and gazed up at him with interest, as he had also expected she would.

“Ten and six!” she repeated with amazement, all thoughts of Sir Simon thoroughly displaced. “Were you all alone? What made you leave?”

Hugh smiled. He hadn’t known Rosaleen no-name very long, but already he could read her like a monk’s new manuscript. He had never before spoken of the time he had left his home, yet here he was, about to reopen all his old wounds in order to distract a silly, sharp-tongued female. The idea almost made him laugh. The great Hugh Caldwell, famed for his hardness and lack of heart, behaving like any other damned fool for the sake of a mere
female. He could scarce believe it, and desperately hoped none of his acquaintances would ever hear of it.

“I was alone,” he began, “and more frightened than I was willing to admit, though of course I considered myself very brave, being as foolish as any sixteen-year-old is…”

Over the next few hours he told her of his life, those parts he could bear to tell, from the moment he had left home to all the adventures he’d had, including his sojourn in France, from whence he had just returned as a soldier for King Henry. Rosaleen listened raptly, laughing when the tale grew humorous and looking suspiciously teary when she thought it sad, and Hugh allowed himself to be amused at her interest in what his life had been.

Women! he thought silently. They were all the same, even this beautiful little shrew. They all seemed to think they knew what a man wanted and needed, but he’d never yet met the female who could even begin to understand the things that he barred so tightly from his heart.

“What will you do now, Hugh Caldwell?” Rosaleen asked. “Your brother will want you to stay with him in…where did you say you came from?”

“I didn’t. And I’m not going to. We’ll just keep our destination a little secret, shall we? That way neither of us will know what to expect.”

The stiffness of his tone said more than his words did. For all that he was a big, muscular fighting man, it was plain to Rosaleen that he was as nervous about going home to face his family as a naughty little boy who’d done something bad might be, and the very thought softened her heart. Perhaps she didn’t want to have him hanged, after all.

“Very well, Hugh Caldwell. It shall be a secret.”

Hugh glanced at her suspiciously. “That meek tone suits you not, Rosaleen no-name. Much more of that and I’ll be thinking you’re not the same lady who called me every unthinkable name in King Henry’s English this very morn.”

She reddened. “And with good reason! Until I am proved otherwise, I shall continue to believe that you are exactly what I have proclaimed you.”

“Why, Rosaleen,” he uttered with feigned surprise, “should you like me to make proof of your innocence? There is nothing, I promise you, in all of God’s earth that would please me more.”

“You, sir, are a bastard,” she replied, keeping her eyes forward and wondering if she shouldn’t reconsider having him hanged.

“And your mouth, my lady, needs cleansing. How is it that your uncle ever allowed you to use such language?”

Rosaleen laughed bitterly. “It was from him that I learned it, my lord. Sometimes it was my only defense against him, though I was loath to so lower myself.”

Again, Hugh felt a fierce need to kill the man who’d beaten her.

“Rosaleen,” he said, “I’m going to do something I’ve not done in a long, long time.”

“Oh? Behave decently, you mean?”

“No,” he returned dryly. “I am going to beg your pardon for what I said a moment ago. About your language. It was amiss in me to judge you so hastily, and I’m sorry.”

Rosaleen bit her lip to keep from laughing. It was evident that Hugh Caldwell was sorely unused to apologizing for anything at all. “Your apology is accepted, Hugh Caldwell, but only on the condition that you answer my question about what you mean to do once we reach your childhood home. Do you intend to stay there or no?”