Kissed by Shadows (33 page)

Twenty-six

Malcolm leaned against the seawall on the Southampton docks and gazed ahead down the narrow crowded Southampton Water towards the Solent. It was high tide and merchant ships loaded with cargo were leaving the docks as others waited in the roads to take their places.
Sea Dream
swung at anchor with three other trading vessels in midchannel.

Malcolm could make out two small figures on the deck. One of them held something to his face. The sun caught the glitter of an eyeglass. Casually Malcolm untied the bright scarf he wore at his neck and shook it out as if getting rid of a fly among the folds, and then retied it. Immediately a dinghy was lowered from
Sea Dream
and a man descended the swinging rope ladder to drop neatly into the bow. Two oarsmen took up their oars and pulled strongly against the wind towards the docks.

Malcolm waited until the dinghy was close in, then he turned, whistling between his teeth, and strolled casually towards a warehouse to the right of the docks. He was dressed in woolen britches and a buff jerkin, a plain cap pulled low over his forehead. Only the red scarf gave him any color.

He entered the warehouse purposefully, the door swinging half closed behind him. Then he stepped to the side of the door and looked out through two strategically placed small holes in the wooden wall. The scene on the dock was as it had been when he'd left it. No one was looking towards the warehouse, no one was coming towards it.

He nodded his satisfaction. It was as he had hoped. His presence in Southampton was not known to Renard's spies, although the bastards were crawling all over the town and the docks. But while he could smell them from fifty yards they had no idea who he was. If they saw him, they'd take no notice of a dockhand who looked like every other. Not that he was taking any risks.

He hurried to the rear of the warehouse and slipped out through a narrow door into a small yard crowded with crates and bundles of cloth and wool awaiting loading onto
Sea Dream.
Behind a small mountain of cloth bundles, he waited until he heard the door open followed by a low musical whistle. He answered in kind and the master of
Sea Dream
stepped into the hiding place. He gave Malcolm a terse nod. Captain Longton was a man of few words.

“You'll be ready to leave on tomorrow evening's tide?” Malcolm asked.

“Aye. High tide's at ten o'clock. Will I be takin' a passenger?” His voice was as low as Malcolm's.

“Two,” Malcolm said. “The master and one other. But be prepared to postpone your departure in case they're delayed.”

“Trouble?” the captain inquired laconically.

Malcolm shrugged. “The town and docks are crawling with it. If you had to pick 'em up somewhere quieter could you do it?”

“
Sea Dream
has a deep draught. We could ride out in deep water if they could get to us by dinghy,” Longton said, but he sounded doubtful. “We'd need a rendezvous time, can't be hangin' around in the Solent for too long.”

Malcolm frowned and the two men stood in thoughtful silence.

Malcolm spoke finally. “We'll see what the master has to say. With luck I'll meet them by midafternoon tomorrow. Look for us here at six tomorrow evening.”

Longton nodded. “We'll be loadin' cargo all day, but we'll take our time, leave some bales to load for evenin', so the yard here'll still be busy.” He gave a nod of farewell and disappeared.

Malcolm waited for a few minutes, then left by a back gate into a narrow dark lane that ran behind the docks. He made his way to an evil-smelling hovel and ducked beneath the lintel. Some twenty minutes later he emerged, an old bent creature with a pronounced hump, dressed in filthy rags, his hands and face encrusted with grime.

Thus attired he went back to the docks to do some eavesdropping.

Luisa slept only fitfully. The warmth of Robin's body, the earthy scent of him as he held her, filled her with a burgeoning excitement, but she was also frightened. The knowledge that she had found her future with this man, that he loved her as she loved him, was tainted by the knowledge that a danger that hadn't been explained to her could wipe it all away.

She had been given no explanation but it would have been clear to a village idiot that her companions were engaged in a treasonous flight. Treason meant death of the worst kind. For all her sheltered existence, Luisa knew the facts of her world. And she feared the Inquisition as all rational people did. It came out of nowhere, fed on whispers, and took the innocent and the guilty alike into agonizing darkness.

Finally she slipped out from under Robin's arm without waking him and rose to her feet, gathering her cloak around her. She stood looking down at Robin for a moment. He was sleeping deeply, trustfully, as if nothing threatened him. She looked across the fire to Pippa's bracken bed and wondered if she slept in the same manner, or if she too was wakeful and fearful.

Trying not to crack twigs that would awaken the sleepers, Luisa crept towards the tree line where she guessed she would find her guardian keeping his watch. She saw him standing against a tree trunk, looking across the field towards the lane from whence she assumed unwelcome visitors would come.

“Don Ashton?” she whispered.

He didn't start at her voice, merely said, “Luisa? Why aren't you asleep?”

“I'm too restless.” She stood beside him. It was still dark, but there was a hint of gray in the sky.

“Frightened?”

“Yes. Maybe you think that's my own fault. I shouldn't be here at all.”

“That thought had crossed my mind.”

“I have to be here.” She crossed her arms over her breast beneath her cloak and stared into the lightening sky. “I love Robin. He loves me. I'm of an age for marriage. If I weren't here now, then I would have given up all hopes of happiness. Whatever this treason is, it would have separated us. Is that not so?”

“Aye, 'tis so.”

“You and Pippa are lovers.” She said it directly, without rushing but praying that there was no tremor in her voice.

He looked down at her then. His instinct was to see impudence and quell it with a guardian's sharp authority. But two days in his ward's close company had opened his eyes to her character.

He said mildly, “I wonder if that's any of your business, Luisa.”

“Yes, it is. Because we are all in this danger together, and I am not prepared to die without knowing what it is to . . . to experience that. If 'tis all right for you and Pippa to have such a liaison, then I see no reason why it should not be all right for Robin and me.”

“There is one difference,” he observed. “Pippa is no maid.”

“No, and the child she carries is not her husband's. Is that not so?”

“Aye.” A roughness entered his voice and Luisa half wished she had not begun this. But she said nothing, refusing to offer the retraction and apology that rose instantly, defensively, to her lips. In the silence that followed she fought hard to keep her own and at last he spoke again.

“I can tell you only that much rests on that fact. Our own lives mean little against what's truly at stake.” He could tell her no more because Pippa had already decreed that her child had no father. If she had this child in safety then no one but those who had to must know who sired it.

“I understand that,” Luisa said, somber but confident. “Robin says he will take me to wife but he will not take my honor. Because of what you have told me, I would change his mind.”

She looked up at him, her expression grave. “I wish to know these things, sir. I wish to know what it is to be a woman.”

Lionel ran his fingertips over his mouth. “I would not deny you that knowledge. But I think, if you have a little more faith in my ability to get us all out of danger, that you might garner the knowledge on your wedding night.”

“And if I choose not to wait?”

Lionel laughed suddenly. “I can assure you, Luisa, that there will be no opportunity for experiments in love before we take ship from Southampton. But once at sea, you may try your persuasion on Robin. As soon as we land in France, you will be married.”

“And you promise me that that will happen?”

“I don't deal in promises.” Once again the roughness entered his voice. “I deal in possibilities, Luisa. Trust those. I can promise you nothing else.”

With a tiny accepting nod, she turned away. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Wake Pippa and Robin. I'll gather the horses.”

Luisa returned to the fire immediately. She was not comforted by her discussion with her guardian, far from it, but she knew a great sense of release, as if the burdens of her upbringing had somehow been lifted. She could make her own decisions, test her own strengths, find her own self.

Pippa was already awake, warming her hands at the fire's embers. She smiled at Luisa and glanced across to where Robin was stirring under his cloak. She raised her eyebrows.

Luisa smiled back, delighted that she didn't blush. “Don Ashton is getting the horses. He says we must go at once.”

Pippa got to her feet, stretched, yawned, gathered up the water flasks, and headed for the riverbank. Lionel was already there, splashing his face with cold water. He gave her a swift appraising look as she knelt beside him.

“Sleep well?”

“Surprisingly,” she replied. “What is this ship
Sea Dream
? How did you know it would be at Southampton?”

“'Tis one of my own fleet. When my father died I inherited everything. I keep the merchant trade going.”

Pippa filled the water flasks. “In addition to spying and the like,” she observed.

“Aye, in addition to that,” he responded without expression. “I have exceptional managers and captains.”

“I suppose that explains the London mansion,” Pippa said, pushing the stoppers back into the flagons. “I wondered where you acquired your wealth.”

“I am rich.”

“But never sought a title?” She gave him a curious glance. “For a family with wealth, titles are easily bought.”

“My father had no interest in buttering up to sovereigns or their acolytes, and nor do I.” There was unmistakable contempt in his voice. He stood up and lifted the full water flagons. “Hurry now. We have to reach Chandler's Ford by midafternoon. We must ride without respite.”

“We'll have to stop,” Pippa declared. “Or, I will have to.”

“I did not mean it quite so literally,” Lionel responded. He gave her a quick smile and her answering shrug was wry.

They rode through the breaking dawn, again keeping to byways and field paths. Pippa was only faintly surprised that Lionel seemed to know where he was going across this uncharted land. He was the owner of a merchant fleet, had a family home in Chiswick. Only in another life was he an habitue of the Spanish court, a trusted confidant of Philip of Spain. Nothing he could do or be would surprise her anymore.

Late in the afternoon they rode across a meadow thick with dandelions and daisies. Ahead lay the tiny hamlet of Chandler's Ford that straddled a narrow tributary of the River Itchen.

Lionel dismounted and took the halter off his exhausted horse. “We'll turn them loose here,” he said. “Malcolm will have a care for them when he has time. Until then they'll rest comfortably here.”

Pippa dismounted and stood leaning wearily against her mount, for the moment unable to make her limbs work. She wondered if her own total exhaustion could harm the child she carried.

Lionel looked at her. Her white, thickly freckled countenance had a grayish cast, purple shadows lay beneath her eyes, every line of her angular features stood out. Her thinness that had once given the attractive impression of wiry strength was now that of a dying flower, the sap running out of it as its thin stalk drooped towards the earth.

It was not simply physical exhaustion, it was a deep emotional draining that was leaching the life from her.

A surge of frustration and anger washed through him. And he welcomed its cleansing flow. He had promised he would not intrude upon her; he would accept her judgment and suffer his own guilt. But now he was going to break that promise. It was time to set aside his guilt, his self-disgust, his remorse. They weakened him.

He went over to her where she still drooped against her horse. He put his arms around her, kissed her mouth as she raised her head in surprise, then lifted her up, holding her securely against him.

“What are you doing?” she exclaimed. “Put me down, Lionel.”

“No,” he said. “I am going to carry you across this meadow and into the cottage at the ford. There you will rest by the fire and the goodwife will make you an infusion. Then you will eat and drink, before we move on again.”

“I am not an invalid,” she protested, even as her body sank into the powerful cradle of his hold. “And I am perfectly capable of deciding when I need to rest . . . or anything else, for that matter.”

“Quite possibly, but you're going to let me make those decisions for you for the moment,” he said calmly as he strode with her across the meadow. “It will be much simpler and easier for both of us.”

“And why would that be?” she demanded.

“This is one instance when one head is better than two,” he responded. “Let it be mine.”