A Knight's Pledge, page 20
Her mounted seat was uncomfortable as they rode south east, but each twinge only reminded her of the reckless passion they’d shared. One flesh together, and despite her self-loathing, it had been so sweet.
Effie could feel Winnie’s eyes on her still, and so she gathered her courage and glanced to the right. “Are you well?”
The old woman nodded mildly, her gaze keen, inquisitive.
Are you?
“I’ve been better.” Effie turned her eyes ahead, but heard the whispery snap of Winnie’s fingers. The old woman kept her signs low and hidden from the riders behind them.
You came to bed late last night. You were with him.
Effie didn’t respond. How could she? Anything she said at this point was moot.
It’s not like you.
Effie couldn’t speak aloud her next query. Does Gorman know?
If he doesn’t, he will soon. Seeing the two of you together made me want to weep. You can hide it not.
Effie felt her chin flinch, her breath catch in her chest. “Are you angry with me?” she asked aloud, her voice husky with shame and also with resentment.
Winnie’s sparse, gray eyebrows rose. Why angry? I want you to be happy.
Effie was surprised by the answer. “Then why did you say you wanted to weep?”
Things will change, she signed. The old days are gone. The Family will never be the same.
“We don’t know that,” Effie argued.
I know that. And so do you.
Rather than making her feel better, Winnie’s matter-of-fact statement only increased the guilt Effie felt. Winnie was probably right—even if the best possible outcome was reached in London: Caris Hargrave was charged and found guilty of her crimes, and Effie and her father were exonerated, they couldn’t very well continue to live unnoticed at the Warren. The wrongdoings would be exposed, everyone in Northumberland on alert to Effie and the band’s presence and mission. Should they remain in the wood, those in power wouldn’t stop until every last one of them was dead.
And where would Thomas Annesley’s place be? Darlyrede was destroyed, and Effie knew that if her father felt the same as she about that house of hell, he never wanted to dwell upon that tainted ground again, any matter. Would he return to Scotland with one of the two strangers who were her half-brothers?
What of Padraig? Iris?
What of George Thomas, and Gorman?
What of Lucan?
“It’s my turn to take rearguard,” she said as an excuse for escape and turned her horse out of the caravan to circle behind Bob. He took the cue at once and moved into the spot next to Winnie while Effie pulled ahead next to James Rose.
“Anything?” she asked him.
He shook his head.
They rode along in stilted silence for several moments, and a feeling of dread began to form in Effie’s stomach. Winnie was right—they knew. They all knew, and she didn’t know how.
“James,” she began.
“Don’t,” he said.
Effie was taken aback. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t speak to me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“How could you do that to Gorman?” he demanded between his teeth, keeping his voice low. “How could you do that to all of us?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t insult me. Everyone save Tommy and Gorman saw it plainly as soon as Montague came bursting into the common room. It would never cross Gorman’s mind that you’d do such a thing, and Tommy doesn’t know you well enough, obviously. Still enamored with the idea of having a daughter, I suppose.”
Effie went quiet for a moment. She couldn’t really deny it, but she had to know. “What did you think you saw?”
“You looked at him,” James said, biting off the words. “Before, it was a glare of contempt or irritation. But this morning, you saw him. You looked to him. And the way the pair of you were feeding off each other, crafting your little theory and you hare-brained ideas.” His voice grew in turns comically shrill and then deep and proper. “Don’t you agree? Oh, I say, indubitably. Certainly, Sir Lucan is right. No, no! It’s Effie who is right, without doubt.” He made a sound of disgust. “It was sickening. Likely whoever it was that stole the satchel stood around for the show without the pair of you even knowing. I’m sure you made it worth his while, the way you’re sitting your saddle.”
They rode along in silence for a quarter mile before Effie was in better control of herself to speak. “I’m going to pretend that you didn’t speak to me that way,” she said calmly. “Regardless of what you think, James, I’m still your—”
But the young man cut her off, adjusting in his saddle. “My turn for point.” He urged his mount out of the convoy and into a trot to the front of the party.
She didn’t expect to see Lucan Montague riding back toward her.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, James Rose’s attack putting her on the defensive and causing her to want to lash out. “Point falls back to second.”
“Forgive me,” he said crisply. “I’m new.”
Effie rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”
He lowered his voice. “Did you…tell anyone about…?”
She hoped the look on her face conveyed her horror. “Are you mad? That’s the last thing I’d want to brag about.”
“You didn’t seem quite so appalled last night. In fact, I distinctly remember you beg—”
“Just shut up, Lucan,” she snapped. “No, I didn’t tell anyone anything. But apparently, everyone save Gorman and my father has already figured it out.”
“How?”
“I have no bloody idea.” She sighed. “I’m sure Winnie put two and two together when I didn’t come to bed until dawn.”
“You could have been with Gorman,” he argued.
“In the stables with everyone else? Or out in the rain?”
“You could have been just…talking. Late.”
“Naked?” she insisted. “I’d put my shirt on inside out before I left your chamber. She had to point it out to me before we went below.”
“I see,” he allowed. “But she didn’t tell the others? Or signal to them. You know what I mean.”
“Apparently you and I were speaking to each other differently in the common room this morning,” she said stiffly.
“Were we?”
She shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
“Neither do I.”
“Well, any matter, it was noticed.” She looked over at him. “Has anyone said anything to you?”
“No,” he said. “They’re all…looking at me, though.”
Effie nodded and pressed her lips together. “Well, they’re not only looking at me. James Rose is ready to place me in the stocks as a fallen woman.”
“He’s a shit.”
“He can be,” Effie agreed. “When someone he loves is being hurt.”
“Will he tell Gorman, then?”
“No,” she answered right away. “As prickly as he is over it, he wouldn’t interfere in that way. Gorman’s like a father to him. I thought I was like a mother.”
They rode on for a bit in silence before Lucan spoke again. “Will you tell him?”
“I hadn’t planned on it, originally,” she admitted. “Since it will never happen again.”
“Won’t it?”
She whipped her head around to look at him, and his handsome face genuinely seemed confused.
“No,” she scoffed, her cheeks tingling. “Of course not.” She faced forward again, ignoring the tumbling in her stomach. “But since everyone else suspects it, it’s only a matter of time. I’d prefer to wait until we have recovered George—Gorman has enough on his mind right now.”
Lucan said nothing, and after several minutes her curiosity got the better of her and she glanced at him. “What is it?”
“Hmm?” he said, as if she disturbed him from his thoughts. “Oh, yes. Certainly. You should wait.”
Effie felt her brows knit together. “Oh.” She bit her tongue, pressed her lips together. But in the end couldn’t seem to stop herself from turning toward him again. “Did you think that we would—?”
“No, not really. Of course not.”
“Good.” She faced the road again, noticing that they had fallen a bit behind the caravan. “It was stupid.”
“Stupid,” he agreed.
They looked over at each other in the same instant and then quickly looked away again.
“If you do choose to get blazing drunk again, however,” he said suddenly.
“Stop,” she warned. She couldn’t help but looked over at him and caught his gaze taking in her legs. “Stop, Lucan. You’re not making things easier. God help me, I sincerely hate you.” Effie faced forward once more, her heart racing, her breaths coming fast and shallow.
“I know. You shot me. It can’t be debated.” He paused. “I’d still risk it.”
And, just like that, she wanted him again.
* * * *
The winter sun had long since set by the time they reached The White Swan, but no one had wanted to camp in the cold and dark. Lucan was glad of it, longing once more for the bright, clean inn and the kind proprietors’ care. He needed a place to catch his breath, strengthen his mind. He needed to think.
Effie had moved through the caravan to avoid him after their conversation, putting as much distance between them as possible. He never managed to be paired with James Rose, and that was just as well—Lucan had grown quite tired of the young man’s rudeness, and he didn’t think it would do him any favors with the family to teach the lad a lesson on the road.
Besides James, the rest of the band seemed to treat Lucan much the same, save for a bit of awkward stiltedness at each changing of positions. He felt Dana’s genuine sympathy though, and it touched him. Kit Katey actually smiled and spoke with him at length, and Lucan was surprised and pleased at the beautiful young woman’s sudden loquaciousness. It took his mind from the troubles plaguing him in the dark. He learned that her name in her language—Qi QiangTing—meant ‘Wondrous, sustaining red rose,’ and he had to agree that Kit Katey was indeed both wondrous and sustaining for all that she had endured at the hands of the English.
Lucan was honored to ride into the White Swan’s dooryard at her side.
As if she had been watching for them, Mari threw open the door of the tidy building and gave a cry of welcome, moving at once into the midst of the horses, specifically to the women who were strangers to her, and taking charge of them as a mother hen would her chicks. The group was noisy chaos in the dark until Gale arrived with a brace of torches, and everyone sorted their mounts and their possessions and saw them tended to before jostling each other into the common room, which was so clean and inviting that Lucan wanted to weep like a child.
He could only imagine the relief felt by the lost souls finding refuge here for the first time.
Thomas Annesley was greeted warmly, as was Lucan himself, but rather than buoy his spirits, it caused Lucan’s guilt and his loneliness to increase. Gorman taking the seat on the bench next to him was the final straw—he quickly ate the hearty, delicious food Gale served him, his head down. As soon as he had swallowed the last mouthful, he rose.
“My gratitude for the superb meal,” he said to his hosts. “If you will excuse me.”
Gorman looked up with a half frown, still chewing. “Alright, there, Lucan?”
“Just tired,” Lucan said. “Goodnight.”
He thought he heard James Rose mutter something nasty to the group, but Lucan didn’t pause to force the issue. In truth, he just wanted to escape.
Stupid. Cowardly. Failure.
He pushed inside the small, whitewashed room, becoming reacquainted at once with the narrow chamber. The bolt on the solid door slid easily and true. The quarters were only a fraction of the size of the rooms at most inns of his experience, but none had ever felt so clean, so comfortable, so safe.
The bed was narrow, but it did not sag, and even in the remainder of that dreary winter, the fresh smell of the clean linens scented the small space perfectly. There was a tiny stand with a little wooden bowl and pitcher, a slice of soap and a single piece of toweling. Typically, beds were wider, and often shared between travelers unless they had significant coin, and Lucan recalled his first solitary stay there and the way he had marveled at the inn’s strange—but very pleasant—appointments. Because of the size of the chamber, the upper floor could house perhaps ten guests, whereas most inns might boast five larger chambers of shared lodgings, and now Lucan understood the purpose.
No questionable goings-on at the White Swan. Shelter for those poorly used. Shelter and safety and peace.
Peace.
Lucan thought of how he’d failed in losing the portfolio—and he accepted now that he had lost it. He’d no longer allow himself to hide behind the semantics of “stolen.” Unless they could find the man who’d taken it, either on the road or in London, there was little chance that Thomas Annesley would ever again be free. Little chance of finding out the truth of what had happened to Lucan’s parents, even if Henry did return Castle Dare lands to him.
And who would really care? he thought to himself. Iris, who had her own worries about her husband—who just happened to be Thomas Annesley’s heir? No. His dead parents? No. Roul and Amée Montague weren’t coming back. Lucan knew the fire that had killed them was no accident, and he was certain that Vaughn Hargrave—who was also already dead—had his hand in it. What more could he gain by trying the issue of posthumously accusing the man of killing his parents in Henry’s court?
A soft rap sounded on his door and Lucan’s heart stuttered. He wondered if it could be Effie and found himself unable to move.
“Sir Lucan?” Mari’s voice called out quietly from the corridor.
He unbolted the door to find the short, round woman stepped back across the corridor, holding a flat, circular object covered with a towel in one hand and a mug in the other.
If ever there had been a less threatening sight, Lucan couldn’t imagine it.
“I’ve brought you a bit of pudding and some warm cider,” she said with a gentle smile. “Gale’s is the best, you’ll see. You’ve had a long, cold ride today, and I reckoned you wanted it. A hard day, as well, from what I gather.” Her eyes were knowing.
Lucan’s throat tightened. “Thank you,” he rasped as he took the offerings, looking at them as if they were containers of gold—no one had ever cared for him in such a way without being duty bound or paid handsomely for it.
“Thank you,” Mari objected. “Gorman says that if not for ye, the poor doves might not have been saved. Effie could have been badly hurt, or even killed. He’s been singin’ your praises since you left.”
Guilt squeezed him again. Damned Gorman. Virtuous bastard.
Lucan stood in the doorway feeling the heel, his hands full of gracious food from a thoughtful woman. His eyes prickled and he was terrified he might start blubbering at such kindness that he didn’t deserve.
“You sleep well, now,” Mari whispered and reached out to squeeze his forearm and gave him a wink. “Say your prayers. And don’t mind James.”
Lucan turned back inside the room and set the bowl down on the ticking before closing and bolting the door. He carried his cider back with him and balanced it on the meager corner of the stand while he took off his boots and belt and loosened his gambeson. He turned back the coverlet and then retrieved his cider, crawling beneath the thin wool. He rested the mug against his hip before lifting the worn cloth, and the spicy-sweet fragrance of the pudding touched a physical place in him.
He’d ruined the most important mission of his life. Since the day Effie Annesley had shot him in the Darlyrede wood, he felt as if his orderly existence had spun out of control. Nothing that had happened since then had been within his command, within the orderly realm he’d kept for himself for the past fifteen years. He’d failed in his undertaking, betrayed Gorman, and fallen in love with Effie Annesley. And yet, Mari had thought enough of him to bring him a bowl of warm pudding and a cider.
He realized then that everything he’d ever been working for was naught but a lie. A meaningless farce. Mari didn’t care if he was a knight with a claim to a Northumberland estate. She didn’t care where the women they’d rescued came from, who they were, or what they’d done. She didn’t care that Gorman and Effie had never married, or if Dana was in fact a woman or a man. She didn’t care that Chumley was a drunk—he had cause enough, didn’t he? Mari loved them all, just because they were under her roof.
And Lucan suddenly understood the meaning of the word ‘good.’
Say your prayers, she’d reminded him.
How long had it been since Lucan Montague had prayed? How long since he’d done more than allow his mind to wander in some chapel while a disinterested priest droned? How long had it been since he’d believed his prayers were heard by anyone or anything, or that they even mattered?
Since the night his parents had died, he realized.
He ate the pudding and finished the cider slowly, savoring each bite and sip, trying to squeeze the caring out of each tang of spice and flavor. He leaned over and set the vessels on the floor, and with the taste of Gale’s good bread pudding in his mouth, he lay down on his side and faced the guttering candle.
By the time Lucan Montague had finished his prayers, the chamber was dark, and the candle wax was cold.
Chapter 19
They stayed at the White Swan for two days, resting, gathering supplies, getting the women settled. And Effie was glad of the refilling of her spirit and her resolve, even if the tension of trying to avoid Lucan Montague caused her shoulders to ache.
