Battered and bruised, Roselyn ached with exhaustion, but she couldn’t rest until the body was removed from her cottage. It would be hours before she could risk going for a horse.
Thornton sat silently across from her, his food long gone. Was he thankful to have escaped death, or had he killed the Spaniard only to protect himself from exposure?
When he’d washed up on the beach, Thornton had been worried that someone would follow him. She had no proof that this assailant was doing anything else, and she would drive herself mad with endless speculation. But would another Spaniard follow when this one didn’t return?
Thornton’s voice startled her. “Now will you tell me what happened?”
She shrugged. “He came upon me in the bake house and wanted to know who you were, said that he’d been watching us. He said you are no Englishman.”
Thornton’s only response to that was a gleam of a smile in the darkness. “I’ve heard that on more than one occasion, although often the word ‘proper’ preceded ‘Englishman.’”
She didn’t smile. “When I wouldn’t bring him to the cottage, he grew angry.” She was glad it was too dark for Thornton to see her protectively cover her bruised chest with her arms. “I escaped and ran from him, trying to lead him away from the estate. He caught me and fell on top of me and—” She broke off, wiping her mouth and shuddering.
Thornton didn’t speak, but his tension was clear.
A sudden memory was sharp in her mind, and she spoke slowly. “When he was…insulting me, he said he’d been long at sea.”
“Which is only natural if he came from the armada,” Thornton said. “I was worried that one of the Spanish ships had seen me survive and sent someone to follow me.”
“But why would they? How could one lone Englishman matter to them?”
He disappointed her by not even hesitating. “Perhaps they thought I carried information to be used against them. Did anything else happen before you arrived at the cottage?”
She shook her head, then propped her chin in her hand.
“You’re certain he mentioned no one else who’d come with him?”
She nodded.
Thornton studied her closely. “You seem exhausted,” he said in a grudging voice. “You’ve done well today. Lay your head down, and I will awaken you when the time is right.”
She didn’t even bother to protest as she put her head in her arms and fell asleep.
When Roselyn was shaken awake by Thornton, she came up with a gasp, having had vivid dreams of the Spaniard’s leering face.
The peculiar stillness of deep night enfolded her, though off to the east she could hear the faintest crash of waves on the shore.
She stared at the pale outline of Thornton and realized she had not asked him the question that most concerned her. “What did he say?”
“The Spaniard?”
“Just before he died, he spoke to you in Spanish. What did he say?”
“Just that he was going to kill me.”
His voice was deliberate and too controlled. She didn’t believe him, and her doubts threatened to overwhelm her.
“I’ll go for the horse,” she said, pushing herself off the bench.
He looked up at her. “Know that I would do this for you if I could. Be careful.”
She stared into his dark, solemn face, wishing she could read his expression as she said softly, “I’ll be back soon.”
Once she had reached the stables, Roselyn selected the gentlest mare she could find. Angel had been hers as a child, and would obey her without shying away.
For just a moment she put her arms around the horse’s neck, letting memories of long ago comfort her. Francis had taught her to ride on Angel. She’d spent hours every day exploring the island on horseback, making endless plans for her life.
She never rode Angel anymore for fear of painful memories, just as she never visited any other room at Wakesfield but the kitchens. She was no longer the favored child, only a tenant.
She saddled Angel and led her away from the stables. When she reached the cottage Thornton was waiting for her in the doorway, silhouetted by the firelight. The Spaniard lay behind him.
She gazed down at the body for a moment, caught again in the terror of what had happened. Thornton’s voice distracted her.
“Why aren’t you riding the horse?” he asked.
She glanced up to find him watching her speculatively, as if he knew her every thought and was amused.
“Because she’s not mine,” she said firmly. “Let us finish this, please.”
Roselyn steeled herself against the horror of dragging a dead man. While Thornton pulled awkwardly on one arm, she tugged on the other, feeling that at any moment the Spaniard would awaken and grab her.
Standing on one leg, Thornton lifted the body and boosted it behind the saddle, over Angel’s haunches while she braced him for balance. When it was done, he sagged against the horse’s flank, then roused himself enough to tie the body behind the saddle.
“She’s a calm horse,” he said afterward, stroking the animal. “What’s her name?”
“Angel.”
She heard his soft chuckle in the darkness. “This angel will be leading a Spaniard to the gates of hell.”
His penchant for inappropriate humor was infuriating and improper, and she told him so.
“Lady Roselyn, your lack of humor is much of your problem.”
“How would you know, Lord Thornton? You never bothered to find out.”
He was silent, then said coldly, “Let’s go.”
“First you must return to the cottage,” she said, attempting to slide beneath his arm.
He held her away. “I’m going, too.”
“You most certainly are not. That is the last thing I need, to be seen riding so…intimately with a man.”
“But riding intimately with a corpse is acceptable?”
She shuddered. “You’re right; I’ll walk.”
“Don’t be a fool; that would take most of the night. And you aren’t going alone. What if a ship is at anchor out there, waiting? Then you’d need my help.”
She hadn’t considered that there might be a Spanish ship hidden nearby.
He grasped the pommel, then pulled himself high enough to get his left foot near the stirrup, but it kept bouncing out of his reach.
“Will you help me?” he demanded, his voice strained.
Shaking her head, Roselyn guided his foot into the stirrup, and he swung up into the saddle. By the light spilling out of the cottage, she saw him grimace in pain.
“This is not a good idea,” she said. “You might aggravate your injuries.”
“I’m not letting you clean up a mess that’s my fault. Go close the cottage door.”
So he thought he was heroic, helping the poor maiden in distress?
She pulled the cottage door closed. “There isn’t room for me—I’ll walk.”
“Put your foot in the stirrup and give me your hand.”
“No.”
“Give me your hand,” he repeated firmly.
“The poor horse will—”
“Roselyn!”
He reached for her, and with a sigh she clasped his hand and put her foot in the stirrup. She didn’t realize until she was straddling the saddle that he meant her to sit before him. She was pinned between the pommel and his body, and she watched in growing worry as he placed his arms around her to reach for the reins.
“I can guide the horse,” she said swiftly.
He didn’t answer.
“You can’t even use your right foot.” She was mortified to hear her voice rising.
“I’ll make do.”
His voice rumbled with amusement, and to her surprise she could feel it against her back. She had been resting against him, and she straightened so fast he chuckled.
Thornton guided the mare away from the cottage.
“You’re heading for the village, not the shore. You were barely conscious the last time you came this way.”
“Very well,” he said, allowing her to take the reins.
That ended up making matters worse—he rested his hands on her waist. She could feel the heat of him through her clothes.
“Please let go of me.”
He spoke softly into her ear. “I’m feeling dizzy. You wouldn’t want me to fall.”
She hated his sarcasm, his superiority, especially the way he enjoyed tormenting her. It only made her more aware that he was not a gentleman. She had to distract herself—and him.
“Earlier you said this soldier would be going to hell, but perhaps he was just doing his duty. Surely you have followed orders as well.”
If she hoped for any truths from him, she was disappointed.
“There is no excuse for abusing a woman. That is proof of what kind of villain he is.”
Didn’t he realize that although he had never physically harmed her, he had abused her just the same during their betrothal? Didn’t he know that his treatment of her now was in many ways worse?
As they neared the cliffs, they could hear the pounding of surf on the rocky shoreline below them. Though Roselyn was keeping her back straight, she still felt Thornton’s thighs pressed to the length of hers. His hands tensed at her waist and she knew it must look as if they were riding over the edge, but even in the darkness Angel knew her way. As they began the descent to the beach, she heard Thornton release his breath.
There was almost no moon this night, and the water seemed an endless black.
“Do you see a ship?” she whispered, looking over her shoulder at him.
He shook his head, but he still looked intent, worried.
“Do you think the Spaniard arrived the same night you did?”
“Probably, and it took him this long to find me. Perhaps he has a boat hidden on the shoreline nearby, or he was going to steal one. I think we’re safe for the moment.”
Nothing seemed real to Roselyn, as they rode into the dark water until the waves soaked their legs. She clutched the pommel as Thornton untied the Spaniard’s body and pushed it off the horse. She flinched at the splash, and didn’t protest when he took the reins and guided Angel back onto the beach.
“Someone will find the body in the morning,” she said, shivering.
“Perhaps not. The tide could drag him farther out. But if he is found, well, he was just another casualty of the war.”
Angel herself guided them back up the cliff, and when Thornton would have headed for the cottage, Roselyn stopped him.
“Wait.” She took the reins back, and turned Angel toward the channel. They looked out over the dark water, and she couldn’t help but remember the night she’d found him, when the moon had been full, and enemy ships threatened the island.
She took a deep breath. “Do you remember anything more about how you arrived here?”
She was so close to him she could feel the slight stiffening of his muscles.
“Only what I’ve told you.”
“It must bother you to have a piece of your memory missing. How long were you with the fleet?”
“Almost three months.” The tension in his voice grew. “What is the point of these questions?”
“I’m curious. This island is not so remote as you imagine; Francis goes to the mainland often and brings back stories he hears in the taverns. It might surprise you to know that your…exploits are talked of even there.”
“My exploits?”
He sounded suitably bewildered; she was impressed.
“The only reason I asked how long you’d been with the fleet, is because Francis heard talk of you that sounded quite recent.”
Thornton said nothing.
“Perhaps Francis heard incorrectly,” she continued.
“That could be,” he said mildly. “I’ve had so many exploits that stories of them could easily take a while to spread.”
“Why do you feel the need to behave in such a way?” she asked, trying to mask her disappointment that she couldn’t trap him.
She thought he would laugh and make light of his behavior. Instead his hands tightened where they rested on her waist.
“How else will society forget how you humiliated me?” he said coldly.
She gritted her teeth together. “You’re claiming that your actions are my fault?”
“Who else?”
“You didn’t want to marry me, either!”
“Perhaps not, but after the contract was signed, I was committed.”
“Thornton, your scandalous behavior proves to one and all that I was justified in not marrying you—and it began long before you met me.”
He leaned against her, suddenly reminding her that she was alone with him on a deserted cliff in the darkness.
And no one knew where she was.
“Rationalize your own behavior all you’d like, Lady Roselyn, but we both know who was doing his family duty, and who was selfishly destroying lives.”
She elbowed him in the stomach, and with a grunt he straightened. “I haven’t harmed my family,” she said, “and though it has taken me time, I’ve found my own peace. Can you say the same for yourself?”
She tapped her heels into Angel’s sides, and let the horse’s hooves drown out anything else he might want to say. At the cottage he dismounted without a word, and she continued on to the Wakesfield stables, walking the last few hundred yards.
After unsaddling Angel, she rubbed the horse down, then spent a moment petting her, not knowing when she’d get the chance again. After a last look around to make sure everything was as she found it, she left the stables for home.
Francis Heywood arose before dawn, certain he’d heard someone near the stables. After he dressed, he crept outside in time to see Lady Roselyn returning Angel. Instead of confronting her, he hesitated. She never rode the horse, no matter how far her business took her.
So why had she borrowed Angel in the middle of the night? Why had she been acting so distant? Whatever secrets she was keeping, he wanted only to help her. But how could he help if she wouldn’t confide in him?