“What?” Alex took a hurried step back. “The plague? You’ve brought the plague?” Even this far north they’d heard of how London and the villages around it were suffering a virulent outbreak of the Black Death.
“Nay, of course not,” Margaret said. “We haven’t been in London proper for months. But what with the heat of the summer and the increasing number of deaths, I thought it safer to repair even further north. I can’t risk my son.”
Matthew’s eyes strayed to Ian and Alex sighed. She could commiserate to a point with his feelings for the boy that should have been his but no longer was – due to Margaret’s lying insistence that Luke had fathered her child – but Matthew’s statement almost two years ago could put her children’s inheritance at risk, and there were days when she had problems forgiving him for that.
Alex’ eyes fluttered over to Simon Melville, who winked at her. She stuck her tongue out, making Simon grin. A thousand times he’d told her not to worry, that there was no way Ian had a claim to Hillview, not now that he was the recognised son of Luke. Besides, he’d said rather smugly, he’d drafted the documents himself, and so he could assure her there were no loopholes, none at all.
“You may stay,” Matthew said, and Alex glowered at him. He should at least discuss it with her first. At times Matthew was a bloody old-fashioned man – to be expected, given that this was in fact the seventeenth century and the odd one out was she, born in 1976.
Not that it showed, she reflected, throwing a quick glance down her body. In skirts and bodice, her head neatly capped and a clean apron covering the dark material of her skirts, she was undistinguishable from most of the women of the here and now. All in all a good thing, because to shout to the world that she was from a future time would be the equivalent of tying a noose and placing it around her neck. Witches hang, and no one would listen to her protestations that she’d done nothing to transport herself from modern day Scotland to here, that it had all been due to the thunderstorm.
Her eyes flitted to the sky and she almost laughed at herself. No storm brewing, and besides, it had to be a once in a lifetime experience to live through a thunderstorm so gigantic it caused a rift in time. Once in a lifetime? It should be impossible and yet here she was, a living, breathing example of the fact that sometimes impossible things happened – as they had done to her seven years ago when time was torn apart at her feet.
Alex returned her attention to Margaret, who was beaming at Matthew. To Alex’ huge irritation, Matthew smiled back.
“Thank you.” Margaret dismissed the hired grooms who’d escorted them and set off in the direction of the cottage, her son at her heels.
“You’ll stay away for the first few weeks,” Matthew said. “As a precaution, aye?”
“Aye, a precaution. I see.” Margaret paled, looking so frightened that Alex felt sorry for her.
“I’ll send up Sarah later, you’ll need food and such, right?” she said.
Margaret gave her a grateful look and hefted the rather insignificant bundle she was carrying.
“Aye, we left in haste.”
“I can imagine.” An instant of shared motherhood flew between them.
“That was generous,” Simon muttered to Matthew as Alex strode away to arrange for a basket to be taken to the cottage. Matthew nodded. Not that it surprised him, because this wife of his might on occasion blow both hot and cold but was mostly a temperate warm, being in general kind and cheerful. He put out a hand to stop Rachel from whacking Jacob over the head with her wooden doll.
“Nay, Rachel! You mustn’t fight with your wee brother. It’s unseemly.”
“He pushed me.”
“He did no such thing,” Matthew said, sinking down onto his haunches to give her the full benefit of his stare. “If you hit him then you mustn’t be surprised when he hits you back.”
Rachel gave her baby brother a sly look. At almost three Rachel was tall and sturdy for her age and topped Jacob by a head. Let him try, her face told Matthew, let him try and I’ll send him flying.
“One day he’ll be taller and stronger than you, and you won’t want him hitting you then.” He sincerely hoped his children had grown out of squabbles by the time Jacob overtopped Rachel, but eyed his daughter doubtfully. He adjusted her cap and gave her a gentle shove in the direction of Mark.
“Keep an eye on your sister,” he said. Mark’s face clouded and Matthew beckoned him over. “And you won’t go near the cottage.” Mark looked crestfallen. “You can help me carry up the basket later, but only if you watch Rachel first.”
Mark sighed but took Rachel’s hand, wandering off in the direction of the swing Matthew had made them.
“And you make sure she stays with you, all the time,” Matthew called, receiving a despairing look in return that made Matthew smother a smile. Where Rachel got her boundless energy from was an open question, although Matthew insisted he had been a most biddable child – at least until the age of seven – so therefore it had to come from her mother.
“For my sins,” Alex would sigh every now and then, making Matthew laugh out loud. Even worse, wee Rachel had her brothers firmly in hand and showed hair-raising creativity when it came to new activities, leaving a wake of destruction behind her.
“Come, you,” Matthew said to Jacob and swung him up to sit on his arm. “Let’s find your mama.” He kissed the hair of his youngest before going off in search of his disgruntled wife.
“I couldn’t do otherwise,” Matthew said to Alex’ back.
“Of course not,” she replied, a trifle too coolly to sound sincere. She put a loaf of dark bread into the basket, added eggs, cheese, a flask of beer, half a pie, and as an afterthought a piece of currant cake. Jacob smacked his lips, waving a chubby hand in the direction of the cake.
“After dinner,” Alex said. “And only if you eat all your greens.”
Matthew made a face. Obliged to act the role model, these days he found himself eating large quantities of uncooked vegetables, his muttered protests along the lines that he was no cow ignored by his wife, who insisted it was good for him.
“I can carry the basket,” Matthew offered once she’d finished loading it.
“I have no doubts whatsoever on that score, but you’re not. Sarah will take it.”
“I‘ve promised Mark he can go with me,” Matthew said, receiving a long look in return.
“Neither of you will and both of you will stay well away from them, at least to begin with. Make sure Mark knows that as well.”
Matthew frowned at her peremptory tone. “You can’t stop me from seeing them. I have to help them settle in.”
“You go up there, Matthew Graham, and you’ll be sleeping very alone at night, in the hayloft. Your choice.” She hefted the heavy basket off the table and went to find Sarah.
Matthew considered chasing her up the stairs for a serious one on one conversation regarding her duties and roles as a wife, but decided to save it for later. Much later, and possibly in the hayloft…
Halfway through the afternoon, Alex decided to escape the heat by settling herself under the large ash that stood on the further side of the stables. A quick look in the direction of her youngest children showed her they were muddy and happy by the trough, and Mark would be with Matthew somewhere. She reclined against the trunk, produced her work and with a little sigh set to.
“You don’t need to worry.” Simon flopped down in the shade beside Alex, his light blue eyes intent on her.
“Worry about what?” Alex held up the boy’s shirt she was sewing against the light. The hemline was uneven, but she decided it would do. She was sick of sewing and mending, sometimes she longed for a shopping centre with one shop after the other; GAP, H&M, M&S. She sighed and picked up the next garment in her basket. An impossible dream, given that this was 1665.
“About her, Margaret.”
“I know I don’t,” she said. “But as to Ian… he eats him with his eyes!”
Simon hemmed in agreement.
“And it must be difficult for him – for Ian. I wonder what they’ve told him to explain that sorry mess two years ago. It’s not as if they can wave a paternity test at him.”
Simon sat up, eyes bright with curiosity. Of a need he knew her background, and he was always pestering her for details about life in the future.
“Paternity tests?”
“They take blood from the baby, the mother and the father and then they can see if it all matches.” She smiled and beckoned him closer. “They say that on average one child in four is a cuckoo,” she confided, grinning at his horrified expression. “I dare say it’s more or less the same now.”
“No!” Simon shook his head. “You can’t think that married women would do something like that!”
“Have sex? Or have sex with someone other than their husband?” She laughed, her sewing forgotten in her lap.
“Hmph!” Simon lay back and stared up at the sky through the rustling leaves of the tree. “A man never knows, he never knows for sure if it’s his child or not.”
“No, and that’s the starting point of all this sorry mess with Ian, isn’t it?”
“Did he tell you?” she asked a bit later.
“No,” Simon said. “But it doesn’t take a genius to work out where he’s been.”
Alex hugged her knees. “I don’t like it. From being the occasional meal, the odd night’s lodging, now it’s Matthew guiding them across the moor, helping them find other hideouts.” She leaned her cheek against her skirts.
“I’m sure he’s careful.”
“Of course he is,” Alex agreed, mainly to convince herself. She smiled down at Simon and poked him in the gut. “That wasn’t very nice of you, to leave poor Joan all alone with your Aunt Judith.” She’d only met Judith Melville once, a quarrelsome, nosy woman with no similarities whatsoever to Simon. Matthew’s sister Joan on the other hand, was one of the sweetest people she knew.
“Joan doesn’t mind, I think she even likes the old bat, aye? Anyway, she’ll be here tomorrow.”
Someone called for the mistress, and Alex got to her feet.
“Now what?”
She slowed her steps halfway across the yard. “Who are they?” she asked Simon.
“Dragoons,” he said, frowning. He buttoned up his coat as he walked and brushed his collar into place. By the time they were at the door, Simon Melville was all lawyer, joviality wiped from his face. He expanded his considerable girth, nodded at the officer and placed a hand at Alex’ waist.
“Mistress,” the officer said.
“Captain,” Alex curtsied.
“We will not importune you for long,” the officer continued, jerking his head in the direction of the stables. Alex’ heart nosedived at the sight of her man being marched across the yard. He was struggling, his arms held in a tight grip by the two soldiers flanking him.
“What on Earth…” Alex gasped, wheeling to face the officer. Behind her Matthew cursed, his voice loud in anger. Oh God; someone had seen him on the moor last night, and now they’d cart him off and flog him for it.
“We are taking him in for questioning,” the officer said.
“Questioning? About what?” She turned, eyes flying until they found Matthew’s. He was not only angry, he was afraid, she could see that. Calm down, she tried to tell him telepathically, furrowing her brow in concentration. Okay, so she seriously doubted she was a new Mr Spock, but he did stop struggling, informing the soldiers he wasn’t about to run anywhere so they could unhand him.
“Now, now, Mistress Graham. Surely you’ve heard. Fugitive preachers abound all around, and to aid them…” the officer’s voice tailed off.
She widened her eyes. “Matthew? When? How?”
“Last night. We had them surrounded, three of them, and out of nowhere appeared a man.” He glared in the direction of Matthew. “A capable swordsman at that, leaving one of my men badly wounded.”
What? Alex forced herself not to look at Matthew. To wound a soldier… they might hang him! Her throat tightened and it took considerable effort to turn to the officer and give him a little smile.
“Well, I can assure you it wasn’t him,” Alex said. “He was snoring his head off in bed, with me.”
“If so a spot of questioning will do no harm, will it?” the officer shrugged, clearly not believing her.
“I’m going with him,” Simon said.
The officer raised a brow. “I think not.”
“I think aye. I’m his lawyer.”
That didn’t please the officer, narrow face pinching together into a frown. But he acquiesced, muttering something under his breath. Simon scurried off to see to his horse and Alex moved close enough to touch Matthew’s hand, a light graze no more.
“It’ll be alright,” Matthew said, swinging himself up into the saddle. She heard it in his voice, how he was struggling to sound matter-of-fact. Alex wanted to say something reassuring, but her vocal cords had somehow gone numb, leaving her mute. Instead she stood beside his horse, holding on to his leg. Matthew leaned towards her, eyes lightening into a greyish green.
“I love you,” he said in an undertone, which only increased her anxiety because he rarely said such things to her. Alex managed a wobbly smile and stood on her toes to caress his cheek.
“And I you,” she said.
Her husband nodded and at the officer’s command followed him up the lane with Simon in his wake. Not once did he look back, but Alex stood rooted to the ground for as long as she could see him.
Chapter 2
They manhandled Matthew into an unfurnished room, with Simon trotting behind him. The commanding officer was sitting in the single chair, to his right stood a troop of soldiers, tired, grimy men that looked as if they’d gone far too long without sleep. Mayhap they had, because it came to Matthew that these must in fact be the soldiers he’d so neatly evaded last night. He hunched together somewhat, legs bending ever so slightly in an attempt to reduce his height.
The seated officer – a chit of a lad, with fair curling hair down to his shoulders and a most impressive jaw – looked him up and down and twisted in his seat to stare at Simon, who just stared back.
“Stand up straight!” the officer barked, motioning at Matthew.
“I already am,” Matthew retorted, glad of the wide breeches. He was made to turn to face the troop of soldiers.