Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (24 page)

Marta was given a room next door, but the girl seemed reluctant to find her own lodgings and rest. This wing of the monastery was an eerie place. It was deserted, save for the two of them. The place was silent, so deathly silent, more like an old sepulcher than a place of prayer. Perhaps Marta was uneasy sleeping alone. They had slept in the same room at the inn.

“Come, Marta, lie down. We have an early morning and a long drive ahead. Rest, child.” Chloe coaxed her, feeling maternal toward the girl as she watched her bustle about. “You may share this bed with me, if you like.” 

Marta needed no more incentive. She slipped off her traveling dress, unlaced her shoes and slid onto the bed beside Chloe. It was an odd feeling, having the maid nestling against her like a chick tucked under the arm of a hen. Chloe was also grateful for the company in the lonely room. The girl had left one candle glowing on the wall. It flickered against the stone and cast gloomy shadows across the room and ceiling.

“You are worried,” the girl whispered, though there was no need as they were huddled together on the narrow bed. "The captain will see us through to the end.”

“Yes.” Chloe sighed. “I am worried, Marta.” She stared up at the ceiling of the room, unwilling to voice her fears to the innocent child beside her.

Morning light and the chirping of birds outside her window brought a fresh infusion of hope. Marta was already up and about, packing their things as the yellow light crept slowly across the room toward Chloe’s bed.

She spent too long last night worrying about her decision. Chloe’s conscience suffered through the night, as she considered the four other people whose lives she’d upset by insisting on this journey. There was Marta, the sheltered adolescent girl, Captain Rawlings, Lt. Morgan and Mr. Jinx. She imagined the worst happening--being set upon by thieves or bandits as they made their journey through the hills. She constructed images so harrowing she shivered in her bed.

“Good morning, ma’am.” Marta was in good spirits, so she must have slept without the unreasonable monsters taunting her mind, unlike her mistress.

“Marta.” Chloe smiled at her maid. Marta’s plain, coarse features would never evoke the poets. The girl had her hair braided again in two neat rows, in pigtails. She had them pinned against her head like mud brown snakes ready to be hidden beneath a poke bonnet when they resumed their journey. Poor dear, she had such large ears that the tight braids about her head only displayed the fault to the worst advantage. Marta could be pretty, if she’d give herself as much care as she gave Chloe in her appearance. She was tall, gangly, still in adolescence so her womanly curves had not filled out to full advantage as yet. The plain truth of it was, with her coarse facial features and flat chest, Marta could easily pass for an adolescent boy.

“I’ve fetched water for you, ma’am. It’s not hot, just slightly warm. I didn’t wish to wake you, as you tossed so last night on that narrow bed.” She shook out a fresh petticoat from Chloe’s trunk, and laid it over the chair. “I thought you’d want a clean undergarment, ma’am, but the travelling dress will have to do again today. I’d hate to ruin your fancy gowns with the road dust.”

“Well planned,” Chloe said, feeling indulgent toward the industrious girl. “The blue plaid will serve well again today. I’m sure we’ll have access to a bath once we reach my uncle’s villa.”

“I never realized before that travelling was such dirty business.” Marta held up Chloe’s plaid cotton traveling dress and frowned at the dirt stains marring the edges of the skirt. “Never gave it much thought, me-self, as I thought I’d never see the world beyond St. Kitts.”

“Are you happy you came along, then?”

“Oh, yes, Mrs. O’Donovan. It’s been such an adventure! I’ve loads to tell my brothers when I return home. Why, of our brave captain slipping through the naval blockade, and of the port of Cadiz, and now this ride through the countryside fraught with thieves and bandits."

So, the girl did not consider this to be a permanent arrangement. She was talking of going home to share the stories with her brothers. Perhaps that was just as well. Chloe was starting to realize that a green girl like this would never do as a proper maid for a member of the marquis’s family. She couldn’t imagine Marta being able to dress her for a court presentation to King Carlos. Jack was right, the girl should probably return home with him. The idea made Chloe a little sad, as she liked the girl. But that was the point, Marta was just a girl. “I’m hungry. Have the monks seen fit to feed us, or shall we be sent on our wicked way without breaking our fast?”

“Oh, we’ll have breakfast in the solar with the monks, I’m told. Imagine that, they unlocked that wrought iron gate that kept us on this side of the fortress, those pesky fellows. Do they think we’d corrupt them, ma’am?”

Chloe laughed at the girl’s blunt appraisal of the situation. “Yes, I suppose, being females, sprung from Eve who tempted poor Adam, we’re dangerous creatures in their view.”

Marta shook her head and made tsking noises. “Mercy, they’d best recall that without us women to bear them more monks and priests, the human race wouldn’t go on.”

“Have you been reading Miss Wollstonecraft, Marta?” The works of Mary Wollstonecraft were packed in Chloe’s trunks. She had told Marta to make use of her books if she wished during the journey, as the time sailing would bore any young girl with nothing to do.

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl’s eyes lightened. “I read her thoughts on rights for women on the voyage. It was difficult to make out some passages. She uses such funny words I never heard of before. I like her novels better. I’m reading about Maria now, in
The Wrongs of Woman
. That one I understand right well. If I was to have a daughter, I think I’d name her after that poor lady in the story, she suffered so at the hands of her husband.”

“She did. It is a vision of true life for many women, fictionalized by the author to illustrate our plight in society as the law stands now, depriving us of rights that every man enjoys fully. If more people read the story as it was intended, not as a novel but a social treatise, then they would understand the need to change the laws to include rights for women comparable to those for men.”

The maid shrugged. “If you say so, ma’am. I just like the story cuz its interesting.”

Chloe and Elizabeth had read the story together, many years ago. It was sad, yet the heroine did find happiness eventually, outside of marriage.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stretched her arms above her head. Chloe stifled a yawn with her hand and stood. She walked to the window and leaned out to observe the countryside below. She could see for miles, an endless road stretching through the green hills. It seemed to go on forever. How many days would it take to get to their destination? She was weary of the journey already and it appeared they had just begun. 

“Come madame, we mustn’t tarry. The captain will be anxious to start the journey as soon as we emerge from our rooms. He’ll scarce allow us time to eat if we linger here long.”

As she submitted to her maid’s ministrations, Chloe realized that Marta was a reflection of herself ten years earlier. She came into Elizabeth Beaumont’s service as an unschooled woman of twenty-two, unable to even read as well as Marta could. Elizabeth Beaumont’s patronage made Chloe the woman she was today, hopefully a little more cultured and educated, a little more worthy to enter polite society as a reasonably intelligent and well rounded person. The Beaumonts, and Chloe’s husband, Gareth, described themselves as advocates of enlightened thought, free thinkers—to put it plainly. She spent many evenings over the years engaged in scintillating arguments over social contracts, reason versus. superstition, and the like.

And to think that when she had come to the countess as a green girl, much like Marta, she could not even say the word scintillating, much less use it. She could have remained Elizabeth’s maid all these years, instead of being raised in position and then marrying into the family. She could still be like Marta, naïve about the changes emerging in a new century calling for an end to the ancient regime that embraced centuries of tradition and superstition over logic. 

Spain, unfortunately, was still a part of that ancient regime.

Perhaps in her rush to be free of one gilded cage she was hastily running blind straight into another one.

Chapter Twenty

They left the monastery within the hour to begin the third day of their journey.

A wicker basket was given to Chloe upon leaving. She opened the top flap and was pleased to find fresh fruits, two loaves of bread and a wheel of cheese. She thanked the monks and allowed Jinx to help her up into the carriage. 

They made slow progress along the dirt road. She gazed out the window and was disappointed with the view. They were moving through a forest region with steep hills and deep ravines. As mid-day approached, they made  a picnic lunch on the side of the road. Jack's men had been given a similar basket from the monks, so they fared well.

The long ride gave Chloe plenty of time to think about her circumstances. She hoped they would find her uncle in a pleasant, receptive mood. The driving need to find him had made her act rashly, and she felt the seething pangs of dread at the prospect as they drew nearer. The carriage jostled along the rough road and Chloe wondered if her reunion with her uncle would be a happy one. He might not wish to be burdened with his brother's offspring. Perhaps she should have taken Elizabeth's advice and written to the man first.

“How are you faring?” Jack pulled his horse close to the open window so he could converse with her. His handsome, tan visage was a welcome sight. Chloe was feeling anxious, and as if by magic, he suddenly appeared. His appearance made the forest about them seem a little less threatening. “Another few miles and we should encounter a village. I’d prefer to stop there instead of in this wilderness. Are you able to wait until then?”

“Yes, we can wait,” she assured him. He was referring gently to the need to relieve oneself.  She had so many things she wished to ask him but his manner was distracted. An economy of words seemed to be the captain’s manner today. “We should be fine.

He tugged the reins and trotted off again. She didn’t miss the grim set to his lips or the grave look on his face. He was concerned about something. She glanced at Marta. The girl was sitting quietly across from her, reading
Mary, A Fiction
, by Miss Wollstonecraft, the book she mentioned earlier. Good, Marta was distracted; she would not notice the situation being tense as they traveled through the forest road.

Now that she was aware of Jack’s profound anxiety, Chloe couldn’t help staring at the trees.  The men on horseback flanked the carriage, forming a tight guard. Morgan was on one side and Jinx on the other. Both men held guns across their laps, long military rifles.

The woods seemed quiet, save for the steady clip clopping of the horses. Chloe strained to hear birds. She did not discern any sounds of nature. Perhaps that was typical, as the passage of a full carriage and several horses might cause the natural inhabitants of the land to go silent.

A shot rang out.

The carriage was pulled to a stop, and someone groaned.

She heard a soft thud, and saw a man fall from the roof.

Before she could react the carriage door was jerked open and Mr. Jinx flung himself inside and closed it. He rounded on his knees quickly from the floor and turned to confront the door.

Marta’s book was dropped to the floor.

“Get down on the floor,” Jinx said, leaning his rifle on the seat, deadly end up, as he pulled two pistols from his belt. He cocked first one, then the other. He placed one on the seat for easy access, and aimed the other at the door.

Chloe didn’t need to be told a second time to get down. She sank to the floor, squatting like a slave in a cane field and grabbed at Marta’s skirts, urging the girl to do the same.

Jinx blocked the door. His back was to her. Chloe peeked behind them, at the window opposite. “Shall I close this window?” she whispered, leaning close to Jinx to keep her voice from carrying.

“No, stay down, both of you.” His terse reply brought fresh panic.

Chloe reminded herself that the armed men would keep them safe. Still, her belly was alive with jumping toads trying to escape through her skin as her breath caught in her throat. 

What was happening outside? There were many voices, all in Spanish.

“Give us the gold and we will leave you be.”

“I have no gold,” Jack replied in perfect Spanish. “I have only a pair of girls traveling to Marbella to be reunited with their dear papa. Move on.” 

Another crack of thunder echoed in Chloe’s heart. She bit her thumb to stifle a gasp. They were shooting at Jack. At the carriage.

“We give the orders here, senor, not you. We are twenty, you are six, unless you hide men in the carriage.”

“Six?” Marta shrieked in a high pitched, girlish voice.

Chloe put her gloved hand over Marta’s mouth to silence her. She shared the girl’s terror, but knew they must not bring attention to themselves. They had seven men, Jack, Jinx, Morgan, and the four hired to escort them. Jinx was in here with them. Jack was out front. She saw Morgan’s back as he held his rifle on someone just beyond the window. The other men were on top of the carriage. No, they had six men. One of them must have been wounded, or worse.

“I am sworn to protect my lord's children with my life, sir. I suggest you move on,” Jack insisted. “I’ll not make that request again.”

Marta started crying. Chloe attempted to shush her, but Jinx turned his head and waved his hand, signaling for Marta to continue. His silent direction was quick, as he was still holding the pistols aimed at the door.

Jack glared at the cocksure vagabond standing in the road threatening him.  The man holding an old, unpolished sword was obviously a highwayman, not a soldier. His shirt, once white, was now a grimy yellow with wine stains down the front. It was hanging loose about his hips. His hair was matted. He had a thick, unkempt beard. Beneath his nose lay two fat red caterpillars that could only be lips. His brown trousers were torn and dirty and his boots dull as unpolished black stone.