UNANSWERED QUESTIONS
It was hard to sleep that night. The difficulty had nothing to do with the discomfort of sleeping on a lumpy bale of hay. It had everything, however, to do with his thoughts of her.
This is ridiculous, he told himself harshly. I am a Hanoverian, on the other side of this conflict. Her family just murdered my brothers-in-arms. I cannot be feeling like this. Yet he did.
He wanted her so much. So much that, if he did not have her, he thought he might go mad. His whole body was throbbing with the ache of his need for her, his loins straining to possess her. The fact that she was downstairs across the hallway, in a bed laid against a wall not three feet away, made it no easier to endure. He felt as if he could reach out and touch her.
He did not want to let himself consider what that sweet, curved body looked like under the dress, sure he'd never seen something so beautiful before. He wanted her so badly that his loins throbbed.
“For pity's sake, go to sleep,” he told himself firmly.
It was never easy to go to sleep on demand, and much less so when his poor mind was hopelessly taunted by something else.
He tossed and turned and must eventually have fallen asleep because, the next thing he knew, the light of morning was shining through the window making his eyes hurt.
“Oh, for pity's sake,” he said, as the pale morning revealed to him a room strewn with clothing, dropped here and there during the night in the absolute dark of the room. He located the shirt, and his trousers. Where were his socks?
“Blasted socks.”
Richard groaned and went through the pantomime of trying to find his socks. Where the blasted things went, he had no idea. He got down on his knees, hunting under the makeshift bed – a straw-filled pallet laid on boards – and wished Bromley were there to find them for him.
“Well, he isn't,” he said. His heart ached. His manservant – who was also his friend – would be numbering him among those slaughtered. If anyone knew yet. The thought hit him like a blow. Mayhap he was the only survivor! Mayhap no one else knew of the murders that day.
He needed to go back. One of the commanding officers needed to know of the murder at Duncliffe.
“You chose to run,” he told himself, catching sight of his reflection in the horn pane covering the tiny window. He felt terrible. However, what could he do?
You chose her.
He shook his head, closing his eyes tight. The fact was that he had chosen her. Yet what else could he do? If I had that choice again, he told himself, I know what I would do.
He'd choose the same.
He glanced at his reflection again. It seemed personable. That left only one thing to do. He headed down the stairs to where he'd left Arabella that night. As he reached the door, he felt a sudden tightness in his groin. He wanted her so much it was distracting.
He knocked at the door. “Milady?”
No answer.
He paused, and tried again.
“Milady?”
Nothing.
He frowned. The sooner they set out, the better. If they left now, he might be able to get back to the fort in time to tell his superiors of the carnage. His heart started to pound with panic.
“Lady Arabella?” he called.
When there was no answer, he shrugged. He went down the stairs. He would have breakfast, save something for her and then go and call her again. She was probably still fast asleep. He strode into the inn's dining room, feeling slightly annoyed. She might at least have said something!
“Good morning, Lieutenant.”
He stared. She was in the corner of the dining room. Not only was she awake, she was dressed – in the becoming velvet ball attire – and her hair was styled in a highly-elegant, fashionable style he was sure he'd recently seen in Edinburgh. He swallowed. His own appearance – a uniform with the shirt wrinkled, dusty from a night on the boards, his chin stubbly – was a source of deep embarrassment.
“Good morning,” he mumbled. “You're up early.”
She smiled; a smile laced with some irony. “I often wake early. The calm of early morning helps me gather my thoughts. You slept well?”
Richard chuckled. “I don't look like I did, eh?”
She couldn't hide a smile. “I wasn't going to say that.”
Though the inn was starting to fill with guests – farmers and laborers – they barely noticed. It felt in that moment as if they were the only two there.
He laughed. “Aye. So I said it first to save ye the trouble.”
They had switched into the dialect of the Lowlands – Richard had noticed the innkeeper's wife hovering. He met Arabella's gaze and she nodded.
“Milady?” the woman said, as Arabella caught her eye. She seemed, to Richard's eye, somehow protective.
“My manservant came to check on me,” Arabella explained. It would please me if we could eat together in the parlor. I would feel safer that way.”
Richard felt his brow rise. He had almost forgotten the guise in which he traveled. He was sure it was only a matter of time before someone asked why her manservant served in the army, and then their disguise would be up. As it was, the woman simply raised a brow and nodded.
“As you wish, milady. You'd like a sup o' milk with the porridge?”
“Please,” Arabella nodded.
Richard smiled as the woman went away.
“You made a friend, I think?”
“Aye. She helped me with my hair this morning,” Arabella nodded.
“Oh.” Richard smiled. He hadn't thought about the fact that such a hairstyle was probably impossible to achieve single-handed.
“What?” she asked.
“Nothing. It suits you,” he said, distracted.
“Thank you,” she said.
Her eyes met his and he suddenly realized how intimate the statement was – how he'd never actually given her a compliment.
Again, he had that strange feeling as if time stood still. He stared into her brown eyes and she stared back. He felt his heart thump faster. Her lips were plump and full and seemed to cry out for kisses. He wanted to thrust his tongue between them, explore them and feel her warm, wet lips on him. However, he couldn't.
“We should go,” he said softly.
“Aye.”
She walked ahead of him into the inn parlor. Here, the gentry – were there any gentry visiting – would sit there, away from the rabble who were filling the main dining room already.
While the innkeeper's wife went back and forth, bringing a series of laden plates to their table – one piled with small bannocks, one of cheese, and another tray bearing bowls of oat porridge and a pitcher of creamy fresh milk and butter – they sat in uneasy silence together.
Richard studied his new companion. Her oval face was solemn, those huge eyes half-closed under their big lash-fringed lids. He wanted to smile at her, but she looked so withdrawn that he didn't want to risk it.
She looked down at her hands. They were, he noticed, pale and long, with soft, white palms. His body ached, imagining her touch, and he went pink.
“Um,” he coughed, “should we begin?”
“Yes, let's,” she said. She reached for a bannock. Richard couldn't help a smile as she broke off a piece and buttered it, cramming it into her mouth. She was hungry, clearly. He felt a strange warmth at seeing her eat so ravenously. His own stomach growled.
He reached for the butter, stirring it into his porridge.
“There's salt,” Arabella motioned, indicating the small salt cellar.
“Oh!” He smiled. “We are being treated well.”
“We are,” she nodded.
He ladled some of the precious salt onto his porridge, relishing the first creamy, oat flavored, salty mouthful. He hadn't had a decent bowl of porridge in years – the sorry gray mixture the army provided wasn't quite the same.
He closed his eyes, letting the taste carry him back to the memories of his childhood. He felt as if he was suddenly at the table in the house of his father, the man's stern gaze fixed on him. He recalled why he'd felt the driving urge to join the army. He would have gone halfway round the world to get away from that man and his critical disapproval.
“You are distressed?”
He jumped as Arabella's dulcet voice broke into his thoughts. He had forgotten he was here.
“Um...no...Not exactly,” he said, covering up his worry. “I was just thinking. We should go,” he said.
“Where?” Arabella asked pointedly. Her face was expressionless.
Richard's eyes met hers.
He felt the predicament she was in. It hit him like a wall. What was she going to do? She had just run away from home with an enemy soldier. She was a ruined woman at best. At the worst, a treacherous one. What welcome would she have in the hall of her father? She had saved his life and he'd ended hers.
“I'm sorry,” he stammered. What could he say? He felt a fool.
“Don't be,” she said tightly. She wasn't looking at him now, but down at her plate. Richard felt his stomach twist with shame.
“I am, though,” he said. Blast it, but he'd been a fool. A blind, arrogant fool. “What can we do?”
She frowned. “I don't know.”
Richard shook his head. Dash it; he should be able to think of something! His mind was a whirling blankness. What would he do to help a woman of her station? In the camp he could perhaps ask for her to be offered protection. If he said she was a war-widow, the wife of one of the fallen, they would be obliged to shelter her. Yet the ruse would only last for so long. What would she do, even if it did? Marry one of the soldiers? Leave her country and her kin and go to England?
As he looked up, distress gnawing at him, he heard a voice.
“I say, fellow! This place is most insufficient. Pray find me some decent breakfast to recompense the sore lack of privacy.”
He knew that voice. He felt his soul crimp even as his heart leaped at the solution.
“Major Rowell.”
Major Henry Rowell. A man known for his sharp tongue and sharper eye. The troops all spoke of him in whispers if they spoke of him at all. He was feared by the privates, imitated by the sergeants, and held in wary admiration by most of the officers. Richard had never much liked him. However, now he seemed the perfect solution to all his difficulties.
“Major Rowell, sir?” he said.
The man's prominent eyes opened wide. He had the face of a permanently bored camel – a long nose, big eyes with wide lids, and an indifferent, cold stare.
“Who, pray, are you, man?” he asked rudely.
Richard sighed. “Sir, I'm Lieutenant Richard Osborne. With the Borderers?”
“Oh!” The man's expression changed from bored to interested, then back to bored. “Oh? Well, what, for pity's sake, are you doing in this hellish damnable inn? I couldn't sleep a wink last night. Wretched bed. I should have you court-marshaled, young man. You should be at your post.”
Richard sighed. “Sir, I have something dire to report.”
“It'd better be terribly dire, young man. Or I really will have you court-marshaled. What brings you here in dereliction of your duty?”
“I...we were all invited to a ball last night. I am surprised you weren't too,” he added in mild surprise.
“I was,” he said evenly. “I declined the invitation. I find myself too busy. A pity my junior officers are not likewise in regard of their duties.”
Richard sighed again. “Sir, I have dire news to report. I am one of the few men who survived that ball.”
“The fare was that bad? What in perdition's name was it? An outbreak of the typhoid?”
“No, sir,” Richard said tightly. “It was an attack.”
“Oh. Oh,” he said. “Well, that changes everything. That's nasty. Very nasty indeed. We must do something about that. Reprisals and all that. You ought to come with me directly. But first I shall take some of the swill and dishwater they offer.”
“Sir,” Richard said as the man walked to the back of the room, taking a table by the window. “I am not finished yet.”
The man's head turned with slow surprise. He shot Richard a look that should have had him waiting for the firing squadron to finish him off. As it was, he cleared his throat.
“Sir, I crave your attention a moment longer. I have something else to report. I need to request you take custody of this woman.”
“Oh?” the major stared at Arabella. Richard felt a moment's unease. Maybe this was not such a good plan after all.
He watched as the man's eyes roved over her, staying a long time at her sweet curvy waist and then traveling back up to her face. Richard shuddered.
“Who is she?” he asked. His eyes never left her face.
“The lady can speak, sir,” he said humbly.
The major shot him a look. “I'm aware of that, Lieutenant. Well, milady? What's your name, eh? And how came you to be in such ill company as our shirking lieutenant?”
Arabella stared at him. She had gone white, her eyes huge, all color drained from her face. Richard felt himself tense.
“She is the daughter of the earl of Duncliffe,” he said softly. “And she requires the respect due to her rank.”
The major just stared at him, and then turned back to Arabella.
“How did you end up here, my dear lady?”
She drew in a breath through flared nostrils, like a horse does. “I fled a massacre, sir,” she said tightly. “Why else would I be seeking refuge?”
Richard felt himself glow warm. She was brave, and bold. He was sure there were few privates in the army who would speak like that to Rowell.
He saw the man stare as if he'd been struck. “You are indeed,” he said quietly. “I would think, then, you might consider carefully your position with those who offer it.”
Richard felt a wall of rage flow into him. He wanted to throw himself at Rowell, box his ears roundly. How dare he?
“Sir, I...” he said tightly.
Another voice cut across his.
“I would think, sir, that a gentleman would offer a lady refuge, regardless of her position with him.”
Her voice was cutting. Her face was blank. Her eyes flared.
The major stared at her.
Richard felt himself go stiff as the possibility of bloody retaliation hung, briefly, in the air. Then, to his astonishment, Rowell smiled.
“Well said, that.”
He laughed and Richard relaxed a little, though he was still unsure of whether or not to trust it. He was surprised when the major turned to him.
“Well, Lieutenant. You've brought us a firebrand here, eh?”
Richard frowned. “The lady has her own mind, sir. I would not venture to call that 'firebrand', or any other name.”
“Um, quite,” the major said dismissively. “Well, my lady,” he said, with a smile at Arabella. “As you say, we are pleased to give you refuge. You may stay at my own lodgings, for as long as you require.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said quietly. “But it would suit me well to find a place among the other war-widows. I am sure I would be useful there.”
“Quite,” the man said, his smile unchanged, though Richard sensed uneasiness in his manner. “Well, then. As you wish. We will ask Mrs. Fisher to find you a place.”
“I'll talk to her,” Richard said harshly. “Mrs. Fisher. See what can be done.”
The major cast a sidelong glance at him. “Who asked you to, Lieutenant?”
“No one,” Richard said bluntly.
“Exactly. I will be sure to find the lady lodgings fitting her wishes.”
Yes, I'm sure you will, Richard thought glumly. You'll ask Mrs. Fisher to put her in the most horrible old place so that she'll have no choice but to rely on you.
“Yes, sir,” he said instead, making a mental note to go to the war-widows first before anyone had a chance to bias their views against her.
“Fine,” Rowell agreed softly. “In which case, we'll all travel back together, eh? You, as the wife of one of our fallen Borderers, should have no need to travel without suitable escort. You are, of course a Borderer's widow?”
Richard tensed. He hadn't discussed with Arabella beforehand the pretense of being a war widow. However, it was essential. The moment she said no, was the moment they were both in danger. Her, for being a woman alone with a soldier, him for fraternizing with the enemy.
“Of course I am,” she said. “I was wed to Hal, rest his soul.”
Richard let out a long shaky breath. She had chosen perfectly. Hal could have been anyone in their ranks – English or Scots recruit. She was playing her part perfectly.
“Well, quite,” the man said, dismissing her piety. “In which case, of course we will grant you refuge for as long as you choose. So, sir?” he said to Richard. “Your duties may resume. The lady's care you can entrust to me.”
Like I hell as will.
“That's all well, sir,” Richard said gratingly. “But I'll ride back with you regardless. I need to tell the men what happened.”
“Quite, Lieutenant.” Rowell nodded to him, a perfunctory tilt of the head. “Come along.”
Richard let out a long, shaky breath. That was that, then. He wasn't about to risk leaving Arabella alone in that camp with that man. He didn't trust him. He could see him giving her an assessing gaze and he could feel how Arabella was discomforted as if her feelings were inside him.
I would leave her to go to him if I thought she wished it, he thought, hoping that was the case. It would be a solution for her, a good one. Finding a high-ranking soldier to marry would put her out of danger and change her identity, granting her safe respectability for the rest of her life. However, he could see the way she was looking at Rowell. She hated him.
I won't let him anywhere near her.
Richard took that as seriously as an oath. He glanced at her. She nodded.
“My lady?” he asked, courteous. “Should we have some breakfast?”
“Yes,” she nodded tightly. “We were just finishing, sir,” she added, though she didn't look at Rowell.
“Of course, milady,” he said lightly. “I won't deny you a moment to yourself. We shall have plenty of time to speak together, if we wish it.”
“Yes, sir.”
At their table, Richard and Arabella looked at each other.
Richard raised a brow. Arabella shook her head firmly. The meaning was clear. Don't interfere. Let me do this.
Richard nodded, and then looked down at his plate. He finished his porridge, though his stomach roiled and twisted and it was hard to make himself eat. When he was done, he glanced at Arabella, who nodded.
“I'm going to fetch my things,” she said loudly. Richard nodded back.
“Yes, ma'am.”
He knew as well as she that they had fled here – they had no things. He waited until she had been gone a minute, then pushed out his chair.
“I'm packing and paying,” he said to the major.
“Yes, Lieutenant,” the major said, without glancing up from his plate of bread and cheese.
In the hallway, Richard walked briskly in the direction of Arabella's bedchamber. He didn't get there before she appeared at his side, stepping lightly out of a recess by the stairwell.
“I'm going to ride with you to the fort. Then I'll return to Duncliffe.”
Richard felt his heart go into his boots.
“But, milady, it's...dangerous,” he said lamely. He didn't even want to think of her making that journey alone. Much less imagine what it would be like when she reached the hall, a woman who'd run off with the enemy.
She shot him a look not unlike the one she'd given Rowell formerly. “I'll manage it,” she said tightly. “And my father doesn't know I was with you.”
Richard nodded. That much was probably true. In that confused, heaving space full of people, nobody was likely to have noticed her leave the hall.
“Please, milady,” he said, “be safe?”
She looked into his eyes. She smiled. “I have a way of being safe,” she said with a grin. “You, too.”
Richard nodded. The look in those eyes made his spirit yearn for her. She was wild, magnificent, and free. He couldn't believe he'd met her. He couldn't believe he was about to lose her.
“Well, then,” he said softly. “I wish you well.”
“I wish you well, too, Lieutenant. Thank you.”
Richard shook his head. “Not at all, milady,” he said. “I thank you.”
He didn't know if she heard him, for she was already heading back up the steps toward her bedchamber. A moment later the sound of booted feet made him turn to where Rowell stood.
“So, Lieutenant? Ready to go?”
“In a moment, sir,” Richard said. He hurried downstairs, feeling his pocket and hoping he had enough cash there to pay for their night at the inn. When they reached the road, it was with an uneasy heart that he rode behind Arabella. He knew he wouldn't feel easy until they reached the camp. Nor until Arabella was well and truly away from here and back at home again.