Twenty-Four

The coach shuddered and swayed over rutted roads. Catherine gritted her teeth and clung to the strap, sometimes bouncing so high she was airborne. She’d yet to decide what was worse, the sickening sideways slide as they wrenched clear of the sucking mud, or the bone-jarring jolt when she landed. She decided the worst was the sight of Jamie Sinclair’s lanky frame, stretched across the opposite seat, his booted feet braced against the window as he slept.

A winter chill was in the air and snow was falling when they stopped to change the horses, and though it was full dark, they ate and were on their way again within the hour. They were traveling fast, they were traveling straight through, and they were traveling light. Mr. Sullivan and three grooms had gone to collect the horses before His Majesty’s bailiffs might think to intervene. Jamie had taken several fine bottles of brandy, a case of wine, and a spare change of clothes. Catherine was dressed in boots and breeches.

“Is that your idea of the proper garb for a country wife, mouse?” he asked, collecting a bottle of brandy as they climbed back in the carriage.”

“No, Sinclair. It’s my idea of the appropriate garb for a traitorous fugitive wife.”

“Ah, but loyal to her husband, at least. You look quite fetching, my dear. I’m almost grateful for our hasty departure. It’s been a while since I’ve seen your magnificent derrière so cunningly displayed. The way your breeches hug your bottom, snug and rounded—”

“Jamie!” He was an incorrigible letch, as always. At least he was over his black mood and back to being himself. They started down the road again, and she twisted and turned, trying to get comfortable. “Damn it, Sinclair! Couldn’t you have sprung for a decent coach?”

“No, my love. You’ve been miserly and have yet to give me an allowance. In any case, you’re here of your own free will. I don’t recall forcing you. I didn’t ask you to come, in fact I warned you not to. Imagine my surprise when I leapt into my coach intent on my escape and poof! There you were.”

“Do you know, Sinclair, your penchant for saying I told you so is, in my opinion, one of your least attractive qualities. And it discourages conversation.”

“Really, my love? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Hmph!” Giving up any attempt at further conversation, she closed her eyes and pretended to sleep.

“One should never denigrate a man’s carriage. It’s representative of who he is.”

“Then you are dilapidated, dangerous, unsteady, and unreliable.”

“Hush, child!” he said with a chuckle. “If I’m all of those things, then you’re being a very reckless girl.”

She ignored him.

“It’s not too late to change you mind, you know. It’s damp and wild and cold in Ireland. Life is harsh and her people are poor.”

“As opposed to the Highlands? I think I can manage.”

“You don’t think you’ll miss London or your place at court?”

“I’m rather less attached to it than you are. It’s a crowded, noisy, dirty town, and I grew weary of it months ago. I’ve made my choice.”

“The more fool you,” he said, tilting his head back and taking a swallow of brandy.

“Yes… quite.” Catherine was annoyed with him. He could be a little more appreciative, after all, his past actions were affecting her now, too. She wondered why she hadn’t done as he’d wished and abandoned him to his king, his creditors, and his fate. He could support himself as a mercenary. She could have her divorce and control of her money, and if the king sought to curb her, she’d be in Paris in a trice. A divorce was what she’d first come for, after all.

Jamie nudged her foot with his boot, and she accepted the bottle he proffered, raising it to him in a silent toast and managing a healthy swallow before handing it back. The last time she’d drunk brandy in a coach with him she’d been desperately hoping he’d kiss her. Her lips curved in a smile as she remembered. She leaned back, bracing her shoulders against the carriage wall, resting one ankle against her knee. When she closed her eyes, she could still taste the one he’d given her that first night in his tent, whiskey-soaked, firm, and heated. She could still feel how the bristle on his jaw and chin had rubbed her tender cheek. And then, a year later he’d come, luxuriant and predatory, dangerous and seductive, to her room, and she’d turned him away. Fool, idiot, stupid girl!

She’d been keenly aware of him ever since. Her skin pricked and she sensed his heat whenever he was near. Her nostrils flared, catching his scent before she saw him, and when he was close, like now, she could hear his heartbeat and the soothing rhythm of his breath. She was fascinated by the steady rise and fall of his chest, mesmerized by the strong lines of his collarbone and the shape of his throat with its—

“What are you thinking about, mouse?”

“Nothing that would interest you.” Reaching for the bottle, she took it from him and managed another swallow, giving it back without spilling a drop. The pummeling she’d taken earlier in the evening had left her stiff and sore, but things were improving. Either the way was smoother now, or she’d learned to adjust her position to accommodate the rattling from the road. “Now if you don’t mind, Jamie, I’d like to try and get some sleep.” Folding her arms and tilting her head back, she closed her eyes.

“Mmmm.” She squirmed and wiggled, smiling as she made herself more comfortable, imaging what it would be like if they made love. No doubt he’d be very good at it. She’d only to remember his kisses, the way he held and caressed her, and the effect he had on the ladies of the court. Her toes curled in her boots, and she stretched and sighed. When he’d taken her in the cave, she’d felt on the edge of a great discovery, but becoming a woman had been rather disappointing in the end. She didn’t fault him, he’d been delirious and she ill-prepared, but instead of making her feel womanly and satisfied, it had left her feeling curious and aching for more.

Ever since the night she’d refused him, she’d wondered what she’d do if he tried once more. It was a game to him, but not to her. She knew he wouldn’t purposely hurt her, but he could hurt her casually, in ways he’d never intended. So what to do? She had to learn to care less or make him care more. They’d escaped London and there were no solicitors to meet. She had him to herself, and now she had time. What could a girl do to make Jamie Sinclair fall in love with her? It was a pleasing notion. He was a sensual man. One would have to start with that. One would need to—

“Well at least you’re enjoying yourself. Frankly, I’d hoped you’d be better company.”

Why must he constantly interrupt! “I thought you didn’t want any conversation?”

“Well, I’ve changed my mind, haven’t I? You’re an uninvited guest in my carriage. The least you might do is endeavor to provide some entertainment. Pray share your thoughts, my love. You were squirming and grinning so much I expected you to cackle with glee at any moment. What do you find so amusing?”

“Have you nothing better to do than watch me while I sleep?”

“Apparently not.” In fact, watching her while she tried to sleep had been fascinating. His prick had sprung to full attention, straining and twitching with every blasted wiggle and sigh. If he hadn’t vowed not to touch her again he’d have—

“Very well. If you must know, I was wondering how it is you’ve come to such a pass.”

Liar!

“I married you,” he said sourly.

She gave him a kick with her booted foot. “I meant… how did you came to have so many enemies and so few friends? How did you become so estranged from your family? Why do you resent and challenge authority, what did you do to warrant the king’s anger, and how did you become a spy?”

“Good gracious, that’s a great many questions! Why do you keep insisting I’m a spy?”

“I’m not a fool, Jamie. You do more than collect information. You also selectively pass it on. Lord knows what else you do. You can pass for a servant or a beggar. You have the skills of a soldier, a tinker, a gypsy, and a thief, and you’ve scars all over your body. My father used to say scars are the map to an adventurous man’s life, if one knows how to read them.”

“You’ve yet to see all my body, Cat.”

“Actually, Jamie, I have. You made a point of flaunting yourself stark naked on our wedding night.”

“Ah! You mean you peeked through your fingers as you trembled under the covers? What a naughty girl you are! Did you like what you saw?”

“I did not! That is… I mean… I didn’t peek. You were also my patient, if you recall. I made a thorough examination of you in the cave.”

“Well, my love, you’re the only woman I know who claims to drink whiskey and look at naked men for medicinal purposes.”

“Pax, Sinclair,” she said, blushing to her roots. “I’ve tied my fate to yours. I only wished to know you better. If you don’t want to answer my questions, just say so and let me go back to sleep.”

I’ve tied my fate to yours. Well, so she had. He’d lost his title and his lands and everything he’d worked for, but it seemed he’d gained a friend, and the wife who hadn’t wanted him had decided now to stay. She had a right to know what kind of disaster she’d wed herself to, he supposed. He stood up, half crouching because of his height, with one hand on the doorframe and one hand holding the bottle, and moving with the rocking and lurching of the coach, dropped smoothly into the seat beside her. “Ah, that’s better. I hope you don’t mind my dear, but it’s making me ill watching the countryside recede. I’d much rather watch it advance.”

“As you wish,” she said, scooting to the far side. He filled the space she left him with folded arms and stretched legs, pressing close against her every time the carriage swayed. She didn’t object or attempt to dislodge him, as his body acted as ballast to stop her sliding to the floor. He nudged her and passed her the bottle, and as the fiery liquid warmed her belly, she relaxed against him. Despite their current troubles, she felt happier than she’d been in days.

“So… where to begin the sad tale of the traitor, Jamie Sinclair? It starts with—No… wait. A proper spy gets paid for giving information. If you want me to answer your questions, you’ll have to forfeit a kiss.”

She leaned over and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, her heart thrumming with excitement. “Tell me about your childhood and your family.”

“That wasn’t a kiss, Catherine.”

“Yes, it was. You didn’t say where. Now you must honor your part of the bargain.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ll claim my forfeit when I’m done. My story begins as all good dramas do. Betrayal, lust… revenge. My mother was a wanton who played my father for a fool. He was a Puritan: pious, hypocritical, and a vicious drunk. He hoarded enough money to buy a peerage while preaching humility and modesty and railing against pride. He beat my mother for infidelity while forcing himself on the maids, and he mouthed prayers, preached sermons, and consigned me to the devil as he worked vigorously and with great pleasure to beat the devil from my soul. There was a time I didn’t know if hell-spawned bastard or whoreson was my name.” Christ! Why am I telling her this? “He’d whip me at the slightest provocation, to make me obey, to instill humility, and to teach me respect for authority and religion, but by trying to beat it into me, he beat it out. Ironic, don’t you think?”

“Is that where you got your scars?”

“Some are from childhood, a testament to my father’s love. Many come from war and fighting, some are from my in-laws—I remember your uncle fondly—and a couple, of course, are from you.” He saluted her with a cheerful grin.

“I don’t understand. Why did he hate you so?” She moved closer, sliding her arm through his.

“I was a rebellious brat and often flogged for it, but in truth I think it was because I resembled my mother and looked nothing like him. She had the good taste, but exceedingly poor judgment, to cuckold him regularly, and he was convinced that I was the product of her sin. Besides that, he was by nature domineering, brutal, and quite possibly insane.”

“What did she look like? “

“I don’t know, Cat. All I remember is her pushing and cursing me on the way out the door. I was very young when she left.”

“My mother died giving birth to me.”

“Did you miss not having her?”

“Every day. When I was little, I used to sit in the cave where I kept you, waiting for her to come back. I thought she was a selkie, you see. Did you miss yours?”

“You ask too many questions. Shall I finish the story or not?”

“Finish it, please. How did you learn to become other people?”

“That, my love, will cost you.” He captured her jaw with his free hand, dragging his lips back and forth across hers, teasing and thrusting with his tongue, plundering her mouth in a rough, delicious kiss. “Now that, was a kiss, mouse,” he whispered, before letting her go. “Where was I? Ah yes, disguises and such. I suppose I have my father to thank for that, too. If I couldn’t be found, I couldn’t be cursed at, whipped, or beaten. I lived with the servants much of the time, played with their children, and ate in the kitchen. It was rather an idyllic childhood in a way. I was a little wild, I suppose. I certainly ran free. It was then I first discovered the joys of invisibility and the virtues of disguise. I disguised myself as a linkboy once and lit my father’s way home, and he never once suspected it was me. I was sorely tempted to lead him down a riverside alley and leave him there.”

“I don’t blame you,” she said, still breathless and stunned by his kiss.

“You needn’t feel sorry for me, love. I had the benefits of both worlds. I ran unfettered in the country on a large estate and free in the alleys of London. I had the benefits of good food, independence, and an adventurous youth, and an education that encompassed all I could learn on the street or in the university. I grew up strong and hardy. By the age of sixteen, when I first went to court, I was over six feet. Only King Charles and Rochester were taller. I liked it there and I wanted to stay. I liked Charles. He was an easygoing man, tolerant and good-natured, who knew how to enjoy living. I dedicated myself to embarrassing my father and pleasing my king, and my unique background made me a useful man.

“So you spied for him?”

“I did whatever he needed me to do, diplomat, soldier, courtier, and yes… spy. Are you happy now? He was so full of potential. He had such charisma and raw talent. I imagined him a great man. I wanted him to be. I thought at first he was. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood what an opportunity he’d squandered. With a few noteworthy exceptions, however, he ruled with a benign indifference and spent his life and his greatness on pleasure and whores.”

“Some might account that a good life.”

He gave a short bark of laughter. “But think what he might have done, Cat.”

“It sounds like you loved him.”

“Pah! All men love the hand that feeds them, though he spent so much on my lady Castlemaine, he didn’t feed me well. A shiny new title and an impoverished estate stolen from poor Sullivan. Proud but poor as a church-mouse I was, just before you met me, lass, but nothing an heiress wouldn’t fix, eh? I’d hoped for one of those from Jimmy. I’ve been useful to him, too. A courtier, a tinker, a soldier, a spy, I’ve pulled his arse out of the fire more than once, and look how I’m repaid. Gervaise used to call us the whores of war. Protestant one day, Catholic the next, and one side as bloody and hypocritical as the other.”

“What of the inheritance your father left you?”

“Mortgaged lands and a title I was never supposed to have. I’m a second son. My half brother was a saint. Saint George, slayer of dragons, a staunch and loyal supporter of crown and country and a model of filial duty. More importantly, his mother had the good grace to leave the plowing to my father and the good sense to die before he could find a reason to hate her.” He leaned over, put an arm companionably round her shoulders and spoke, his lips next to her ear. “As it happens, Brother George was so saintly, he rode headfirst into glory and certain death, taking most of his men with him, poor sods. He brought great honor to the family name, and poverty and sorrow to the widows and orphans left trailing in his wake.

“Apparently, he was too saintly to mount a woman, or perhaps he never found the time. In any case, he died without issue, leaving my father little choice but to accept me as his heir if he wished the family name and his pretty new title to survive. It galled him no end. He mortgaged all the properties and left all his money to the church, leaving me nothing with which to maintain the properties or even pay the servants, some who’d served him loyally for over thirty years. I sold the plate and most of the furnishings and art works to pay the household, but I had to let most of them go.”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t realize. If I’d known, I might have—”

“What? Refrained from clubbing me over the head and agreed to follow me home? Why? That was the only good bit of sense you’ve shown since we met.”

Catherine snorted and reached for the bottle, realizing only then that she’d been holding his hand. Grunting and shifting position, she elbowed him in the side as she made herself more comfortable.

“Ladies shouldn’t make such noises.”

“No? What noises should they make?”

“Pretty sighs and whimperings, perhaps the occasional breathy moan or whisper, please, Jamie, please.”

“Please, Jamie, please… remove your hand from my thigh.”

“No, love. That’s not it at all.”

“You’re very entertaining.”

“Are you entertained, my dear? I have other skills if my wit fails to amuse you.” He reached his fingers to tug at the buttons of her waistcoat and she slapped them away.

He sat back with a grin. “Ah! Entranced by my story, you refuse to be distracted. I shall finish, then. Where were we? Oh, yes! The heiress. It seems I needed one, and Jimmy was going to give me one, too. And then I married you. As you’ve noted, the rest is largely your fault. Annoyed at being spurned for a heathen savage, my titular sire, the king, banished me from his sight forthwith. With no heiress, no wife, no occupation or inheritance, I was forced to rely on my skill at cards and pleasing wealthy women to survive. And thus you find me, deprived of a father’s love and guidance, robbed of my inheritance, a lost little lamb, a poor wayward soul.”

“You were born for the stage, Sinclair.”

“Thank you, my love. In any case, I’m grateful for my past. It’s made me what I am today.”

“And what is that?”

“A rational man, who uses reason, logic, and evidence to make his decisions, rather than superstition or the pronouncement of authorities. A man who thinks for himself… though on occasion I’ve been known to think with my prick.”

“I believe that’s true of all men,” she said with a chuckle. “So you’re an admirer of John Locke?”

“You know of him?” he asked with a look of astonishment.

“I’ve read several of his papers. He’s a member of the Royal Society and we often discussed his theories at the Graecian.”

“You constantly humble and amaze me.”

“They say he was suspected in some plot and is in the Netherlands now.”

“Mmmm.”

“Do you think he was involved? It hardly seems rational for such a—”

“He wasn’t. He held inconvenient beliefs and had inconvenient friends. Nothing more.”

“It was hardly rational or logical for you to marry a woman you’d never met, knew nothing about, and suspected of being a camp follower or an enemy of your king.”

“True enough. It was an impulse of virtue instantly regretted. You may credit me with some worthy, selfless, and otherwise noble reason, but in truth I was damnably bored and there was naught else to amuse or divert me in that godforsaken hole. I never expected to be saddled with you this long. React in haste, repent in leisure, a lesson you’re about to learn, I fear.”

“Can you not take anything seriously, Jamie? Is nothing important to you?”

“If I started taking things seriously, love, my disappointment would crush me. I must see it all as a great jest. My apologies if this annoys you.”

They rode on a while in silence. Loose limbed and flexible, her feet braced against the far seat, Catherine was cradled between Jamie’s lean form and the wall. She’d learned not to fight the lurch and sway of the vehicle, but to let her body move with it. Lulled by rumbling wheels, the dull thundering of hooves, and the rhythmic creaking of the coach, she closed her eyes and relaxed, picturing a handsome, bright-eyed, laughing boy with an endearing grin and a taste for adventure. His recitation had touched her deeply, though he’d made light of it all as he always did. She’d never known her mother, but she’d had her father and Martha and Jerrod. She’d never doubted she was loved. Who had loved Jamie? Who had marveled at his tales, listened to his hopes and dreams, or laughed at his jokes? Who had comforted him when he was afraid or lonely, taken him fishing, carried him on their shoulders or bragged of him to their friends? A wave of grief assailed her at a sudden image of her father.

“What’s wrong, mouse? Are you crying?”

“No! It’s nothing. Leave me alone. I was just thinking of my father.” She wiped fiercely at her eyes with her sleeve and sat up straight, stifling little hiccups as she looked out the window into the dark.

He placed an arm around her shoulder and pulled her back, guiding her head to his shoulder. “Go to sleep, girl. Don’t fight it. You’re overtired. It will all seem better by morning.”

Exhausted, saddened, yet feeling content, she did as he said; snuggling against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, as his fingers stroked her hair. I should be comforting him. It was her last thought before sleep took her.

She woke hours later, damp, disoriented, and confused. The wind had picked up and a cold hard rain was drumming on the roof and coming in through the sides of the windows. She put a hand on Jamie’s chest to steady herself and sat up to look out. It was dawn or dusk—she couldn’t tell which. The roads were thick with mud and she was getting soaked.

“I’m famished. How much farther until we stop, Jamie?”

“An hour at most. I’m not surprised you’re hungry. We’ve stopped twice to change the horses and you’ve slept all day. We can get some food in Bristol, but we’d best cross tonight if we can. It’s not too late for you to change your mind, but it will be soon. Once we go to Ireland, there’s no turning back. We can claim I kidnapped you, forcing you to come, but you’ll be tainted.”

“I like a man with a sordid past. I’m the type who frequents coffee houses and taverns, even the occasional brothel. You’ll do well enough for the company I keep,” she said with a yawn and a stretch. “Which reminds me, you still haven’t told me what you did to precipitate our flight.”

“Nothing, my love, other than make an enemy of Caroline Ware. I thought her neutralized, but apparently, I was wrong. The king can choose to listen to me, or he can choose to believe her, but though he’s been mightily annoyed with the both of us, she’s the only one who’s warmed his bed.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Catherine! You’re incorrigible,” he said with a laugh. “You might pause to wonder if choosing to believe her didn’t give him an excuse to be rid of me, so he could chase after you.”

“Is he truly so venal?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll wager he won’t be happy when he finds you’re gone.”

“So… no plot?”

“No plot. When one collects information and is paid for it one is spying. When one collects it for oneself, one is simply staying well informed. To plot one must first make a decision, and though I’ve been propositioned, courted, and cozened as assiduously as an accomplished whore new-come from France, I’ve played the coquette and have yet to decide.”

An hour later, their mud-spattered coach stopped at the waterfront in Bristol. Jamie spoke with a tavern-keeper who directed them to a captain amenable to a quick departure if the price was right. Within short order, despite the foul weather, they were on their way to Ireland. Jamie had been generous, and the captain had given them his cabin. Catherine sprawled on the bunk in her damp clothes with a groan of pleasure. She didn’t care if monstrous waves were gathering to dash the ship to pieces, or if giant leviathans lurked beneath. Her belly was full, nothing was jolting, and after two days in a cramped coach, she was stretched out her full length in blessed relief.

Jamie came to join her a few minutes later. Wrapped in a blanket, he settled in a chair by the bunk. “Well, as usual, it appears I’ll be taking the long way home. The captain has debts in Waterford and will take us to Cork and no further. We’ll have to journey inland from there. You know, Cat, you remind me of nothing so much as an infant. All you want to do is eat and sleep.”

“You’re just annoyed because I claimed the bed first.”

“I’ll have you know I’m a gentleman! I would hardly race a lady to a bunk so I might snatch it out from under her nose.”

“Yes, you would, but there’s room for us both. If you’ll share your blanket I’ll share the bed, provided you keep your hands to yourself.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be any fun, would it?”

“Suit yourself.”

He joined her a moment later, settling close along her length, groaning as much as she had as stiff muscles started to stretch and relax. She snuggled tight against him. It was cold and he was warm, and she liked the way he smelled.