Lovestorm (20 page)

“We must back up and go around, m'lady,” Robert said. “There's an alley back a bit. We can take that.”

Robert led the way into the alley, the groom's horse following closely behind. Elizabeth came last. The alternate route was too narrow for a coach and so dark that Elizabeth could barely make out the tenements on either side of the street. Heavy damp fog lay thick between the houses, muffling the horses' hoofbeats and distorting what little she could see. The stench that emanated from the dwellings and the street was strong enough to make her wish she'd brought along one of Edward's perfumed handkerchiefs.

Elizabeth could hear Robert and Bridget talking, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. There were noises all around her: dogs barking, babies wailing, people cursing, and doors slamming, but the everyday sounds seemed more ominous than they did in the daytime. Elizabeth wasn't certain if it was the fog and blanketing chimney smoke or the closeness of the overhanging houses that made her so uneasy.

Footsteps passed them in the darkness, some quick and others shuffling. She heard the squeals of rodents, and once Elizabeth's mount stumbled over something heavy that gave beneath her hoof. Star snorted in fear and shied sideways. Startled, Elizabeth fell forward against the mare's neck and grabbed the mane to steady her seat.

“Are you all right, m'lady?” Robert called.

“Yes.” Shaken, Elizabeth wrapped the reins around her wrist. If she fell off, she'd not want to lose her horse and be left afoot here—not even for a moment.

“We're coming to a wider street,” Robert said.

“Aye, lady, I can see torch lights. It may be the King's Arms Inn,” Bridget added.

Elizabeth made out the shadowy outline of Robert and Bridget as their horse started across the main street. Suddenly, there was a rumble of wheels, and a heavy wagon pulled by four horses lurched around the corner. The groom reined in his horse, and Elizabeth's mare stopped short to avoid running into them.

Without warning, several figures leaped from the darkness. Rough hands closed around Elizabeth's arm and ankle. She screamed and struck out at her attackers, pulling back sharply on the reins to make her mare rear. Something was thrown over her head, and she was dragged from the saddle. Gasping for breath, she fell heavily against a man's chest. He stumbled back under her weight and cried out in pain as her knee struck his face.

“Whorin' bitch!” he swore.

Elizabeth ripped the blanket off her head and drove the palm of her hand into her assailant's nose. He lost his grip, and she rolled onto the cobblestones and scrambled under her horse's belly.

“Get her!” another voice cried.

Something heavy struck her shoulder and the mare's hind leg. Star threw herself forward onto her front legs and lashed out with her back hooves. Elizabeth heard a thud and a shriek.

“Jesus! Harry's down!”

The mare's reins were still wrapped around Elizabeth's wrist. As the terrified animal thrashed and threw her head about, Elizabeth thought her arm would be ripped from her socket. “Cain!” she screamed. “Help me!”

Bridget was shouting for the watch. “Robbers! she cried shrilly. “Call the watch! Murder!”

A hand caught hold of Elizabeth's hair and yanked hard, trying to drag her out from under the horse. She twisted her head and sank her teeth into bare flesh. There was another yell and then her hair was free. Elizabeth grabbed the saddle and tried to pull herself up. Her legs tangled in her skirts, and she fell, then ducked under the mare's neck and put her back against the wall. She pulled Star tightly against her, so that the animal was between her and the scuffling figures.

Someone seized the mare's bridle, and the animal bared her teeth and snaked her head out viciously at the newcomer. He shrank back, then moaned and crumbled to the ground.

“Eliz-a-beth?”

“I'm here!”

Men were running with torches. Elizabeth caught sight of Robert with a cudgel in his hand standing over a fallen man. Tom, the groom, had blood streaming down his face. Bodies lay strewn about like dead rats after a terrier's attack. One man crawled toward the nearest open door.

“M'lady,” Bridget called. “Are ye safe?”

“Yes, I'm all right.” She sagged against Cain, and for an instant their eyes locked. Then he lifted her into the saddle and leaped up behind her. She leaned back against him, heart pounding. The attack had come so quickly that she'd not had time to be afraid. Now her knees seemed made of jelly.

“We should go before the watch arrives,” Robert said.

Elizabeth looked down at the still forms in the street as the terror receded. “But they will want to-”

“Better we go,” Cain murmured into Elizabeth's ear.

She slapped the reins against Star's neck, and the mare lunged forward. Elizabeth guided her onto the main thoroughfare and urged her into a canter. Robert, Bridget, and Tom followed.

When the horses clattered across the cobblestone courtyard, Betty came running from Lord Dunmore's house. The large traveling coach was gone, and only a few servants were in evidence.

“Oh, m'lady,” Betty called. “His lordship's gone and left ye. He were frightful angry.” Elizabeth noticed that Betty's lip was swollen and cracked, and her eyes red from crying.

Cain slid down from the horse without speaking and helped Elizabeth to dismount. Then he took the mare's bridle and waited, head down, seeming not to listen to what was being said around him.

Grizzled John Hay came from the kitchen. “We're t' go at oncet, Lady Dunmore,” he explained nervously. Hay was a whip-thin groom recently promoted to coachman. He doffed his cap and glared sideways at his cousin Tom. “Lord Dunmore swore he'd have our hides if we left wi'out ye, lady. We must take the Colchester Highway. His lordship is driving straight through t' Sotterley wi'out stopping. He gave orders that we're t' do the same. God grant the plague don't ride wi' us.”

Betty spied Bridget and ran to throw her arms around her. “I was afeared the black death had kilt ye,” she said.

John Hay cleared his throat. “We've no time t' waste, yer ladyship. Best ye—”

“We'll leave first thing in the morning,” Elizabeth said. “See that these horses are stabled and cared for.”

Betty whirled around. “But m'lady, Lord Dunmore said—”

“We are less likely to be swallowed up by the plague tonight than to be murdered by highwaymen. I for one have no intention of being jarred along all night on the road when I could sleep in my own bed.” She turned to Robert. “You are in charge here. See that all is ready for our departure on the morrow.” She motioned toward Cain with her finger. “The savage conducted himself bravely. See that he receives meat with his supper.” With a wink at Cain, she gathered her skirts and swept regally toward the house, then paused in the entranceway. “Betty will assist me this evening,” she proclaimed. “You may eat and retire, Bridget. I'm certain you are wearied from the day.”

“You heard her ladyship,” Robert shouted. “See all these animals stabled until morning.”

Elizabeth ordered supper from the remaining kitchen girls and made her way up the grand staircase to her rooms on the second floor. She should just have time to bathe before Cain arrived at her window. For once, they should be able to enjoy a leisurely meal together and the entire night in each other's arms.

She sighed and allowed a faint smile to curve her lips. A pity I have to follow Edward to Sotterley at all. London would be much more interesting without him.

 

Elizabeth leaned forward in her bath and sighed with pleasure as Cain rinsed her hair with warm, rose-scented water. “That feels wonderful,” she said. He emptied the pitcher over her head, then handed her a clean linen cloth to wrap her hair in. As she stepped from the tub, he enveloped her in a blanket he'd heated before the fire. “Ohhh, I love it. I'd trade you for Bridget any day,” she teased.

Cain laughed softly as he seated her on a stool and towel-dried her hair. Then he took an ivory-handled brush and gently began to remove the tangles. “If this one knows you would have hot water, he does not wash in rain barrel.”

She clasped his hand and raised it to her lips. “Are we mad, Cain? To joke and play when the black death rages through London? Should we have followed Edward at once, as he ordered?”

He drew the brush through the length of her honey-colored hair. “Among my people it is thought that demons bring disease. It may be that our laughter and the brightness of your eyes will keep the demons away this night.” He shrugged. “Who can say? If we race out of the city like frightened rabbits, it may be that the demons cling to the back of your coach and creep down our throats as we run.” He raised a handful of hair and kissed her damp neck. “If I die tomorrow, I would have this night beside you, my Eliz-a-beth.”

She twisted to look up into his intense gaze. “You are unlike any man I have ever known.”

His dark eyes reflected the firelight. “You know only Englishmen.”

“Here,” she continued, “with me, you are as gentle as a nursemaid. Yet back there on the street you were . . .” She swallowed, overcome with confused emotions. “Who are you, Cain?”

He laid aside the brush and knelt beside her. “Have not fear of me, Eliz-a-beth. Never I harm you.” The angled planes of his face hardened. “I do not like to kill. I have killed and it may be that I must again—but I find no joy in spilling the blood of man or beast.” His chin jutted out defiantly. “Those men in the street were worse than beasts. They would hurt you to steal what is not theirs. Waste no heart's tears on such men.” Cain made a quick motion of dismissal with the flat of his hand. “They are nothing.”

Elizabeth blinked back tears. “I would not spoil our evening together with dark memories.” She laid her hand on the shining crown of his hair. “Sometimes I wonder what it would be like living with you in a wigwam on the shores of America. Are you never lonely?”

He rose to his feet and caught her hand, pulling her up and over to the curtained poster bed. Color stained her cheeks as he whisked away the blanket and tucked her between the sheets with only her hair to cover her rosy breasts. “You would be happy, Eliz-a-beth. I know you would.” She scooted up to rest against the heaped pillows, and he settled cross-legged in the center of the bed.

“The Lenni-Lenape are one family,” he explained. “We have many clans, but we consider ourselves brothers and sisters. When you came to me, I was alone, but we would not live alone in my land—unless you wished it. In the winter, my people move to a village deep in the forests. There, we spend the cold time feasting, dancing, telling stories, and visiting with our friends and relatives.”

“But you must hunt in the winter, or how do you eat?” she asked.

“This be true. Early winter is the time to hunt the bear. His meat feeds us. His fat keeps the winter wind from burning our faces. His skin gives a warrior and his woman a soft, warm spot to make love.” He laughed. “I would lie with you on a bearskin, Eliz-a-beth. The old women say it makes boy children.”

“And in the spring? What then?”

“When the ice breaks in river, we take . . .” His brow furrowed as he sought the right English word.
“Onsikaamme,
the maple tree gives us . . .” He tapped his forehead with a lean finger. “The words be there, Eliz-a-beth, but they do not always come. The juice of this tree makes a sweet like sugar. Always is time of joy among my people. There be weddings and dancing. Much fun for children. Games. All the time, stories and laughter. The
cocumthas
make . . . They pour the cooked sweet into shapes in the snow for children. When
ake
the earth warms, we plant our gardens.”

“You farm?”

“Corn, squash, pumpkin, and beans, we grow. The time of planting is a happy time. Much dancing and laughter. The time of new life. Many babies born.” His restless eyes scanned the room and focused on Elizabeth's dressing table. “What be this?” he demanded. He left the bed and examined the box of cosmetics beneath her silver-framed mirror. “This be fine paint, Eliz-a-beth.” He returned to the bed with the box. “I like this paint.”

Elizabeth giggled. “A gentleman does not pick through a lady's personal belongings,” she admonished teasingly. “Be careful. You'll spill the—”

“Hush,” he said. He edged forward on the mattress, wet his finger with the tip of his tongue, and touched a bit of powdered color in the case. “I be the story-teller. You be the listener. It has not good manners for a Lenape to interrupt when a teller of tales speaks.”

She giggled again as he sketched lines on her forehead with the lip powder. “What are you doing?”

“I tell of spring planting,” he said. “This mark means to the young bucks to seek elsewhere for a woman. It says that your eye falls on a mighty warrior.” He removed a silver beauty patch in the shape of a crescent moon from a tiny crystal box. “What is this?”

“It's a patch, to cover smallpox scars or warts, or just for fashion. Women wear them.”

“Edward wears them. This one has seen. And other men—at the house of your King.” He moistened the patch and stuck it on her left cheekbone.

“What are you doing?”

“Shhh. I make medicine. This mark will keep sickness from our lodge and cause your breasts to grow.”

“My breasts? What's wrong with my breasts?”

Laughing, he dove at her, nuzzling his face in the softness of her breasts. The cosmetic box tumbled to the floor unnoticed as he savored the sweetness of her lips. Elizabeth tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled him close.