Nightingale (2 page)

She cast a guilty glance at the moon that beamed at the moment, denying her use of darkness as an excuse not to try.

If the man were lying in the road, some passerby probably already had rescued him.

What if he lay helpless? Or unconscious? Or dead?

Her imagination erupted with visions of a helpless wretch lying injured, crying out for assistance while help was delayed, wrestling with her own cowardice.

She resented the nudge, the same goading presence that prompted her to rescue abandoned birds and runaway horses. Could she, in good conscience, comfort the man’s animal and not expend some effort searching for the master?

If she could ride the horse, the search would be easier. Also, mounted, she would feel less vulnerable to attack by men or animals.

She had never ridden a horse.

The decision would rest with him. If Sweetness would let her climb into the saddle, she would track back along the road, at least a little distance.

Returning to the horse, Jessica freed the rein and slipped her hand beneath the strap between his ear and his mouth. She applied pressure and he rocked into step beside her. She led him in a wide circle to line him up beside a fallen log, and again fitted the rein over his head.

How should she sit? The saddle was not properly cut for her to ride with her legs to one side, as ladies of the gentry rode. Her oversized dress and petticoat, a cousin’s castoffs, might be generous enough to allow her to ride astride as a man would.

Speaking those thoughts quietly to the horse, Jessica stepped onto the log.

As large as it was, the saddle would provide ample seating. She fingered the leather strap, stalling. Brushing a hand over the saddle, front to back, she slipped a knot and accidentally released a garment tied behind.

The horse held steady as Jessica unfurled the rolled fabric. When she snapped the garment open, the mount’s eyes rolled, but he only turned his head, as if curious to see what she was doing. It was a cloak, black of course, like the horse and his other accessories. It smelled of wool mingled with a distinctly male fragrance that was not altogether unpleasant. The weave was as soft as Mrs. Maxwell’s silken stockings.

“This will serve,” she whispered. If she could get into the saddle, she could wrap the cloak around her, and conceal her long, dark hair beneath the hood. Travelers would think her a young man. A youth traveling alone at night would be less remarkable than a girl. Hopefully no one would consider accosting him.

First, however, she must get herself into the saddle.

Would the owner of the horse be angry when she appeared in his clothing riding his horse? Would he accuse her of theft?

Perhaps not, if she rescued him. She prayed to find him in desperate need of saving. Incapacitated, maybe. Not dead.

“Oh, Lord, please don’t let him be dead.”

What would she do if she found him dead?

She would turn the horse around and return to the coops to devise another plan. Now, however, she needed to concentrate on mounting this enormous beast.

Bracing her feet on the fallen log, Jessica raised her skirts to her knees. She took great handfuls of the mane low on his neck, stretched onto her toes, kicked her right leg up and partially over the saddle.

The horse nickered, but did not move. Jessica teetered, her legs spread in a ridiculous, untenable position. Bouncing on the lower foot, she thrust herself up. Straining, pulling, levering her right leg over the saddle, she kicked, lifted and tugged. With one heave, she acquired the seat, and a split second later clawed frantically to keep from hurtling headfirst off the other side.

In another moment, she sat quaking, surprised and pleased to be securely seated, and drew a shuddering breath.

Sitting a horse so far above the ground was at once terrifying and exhilarating. Brazenly she perched there, her skirt wadded high on her thighs, her lone petticoat scarcely covering her knees, and her legs cradling the massive animal. Her mother’s words echoed in her head. “A proper lady keeps her knees together.”

But her widowed mother was some distance away and that advice, sage as it might normally be, did not anticipate the current situation. Her mother also had bid Jessica to use her own good judgment, not to be swayed from a proper course by circumstances or the opinions or behavior of others, which was, of course, precisely what she was doing.

Squirming, Jessica tugged at her skirt, modesty requiring that she cover as much of her limbs as possible. In the process, she stretched her legs, which were long for a woman, and the reason for most of her height, but, even pointing her toes, she was not able to reach the stirrups.

“All right,” she said, addressing the stirrups, “we shall manage quite nicely without you.” She smirked at her use of the royal we.

Shivering with dread or excitement, Jessica arranged the heavy cloak around her shoulders and took comfort in the protection even as it swallowed her. Then she raised the rein high, as she had seen men driving plow horses do, giving what she hoped was the signal to go.

Nothing happened.

“All right,” she said and bounced a little in her seat. “Go!”

Nothing.

She leaned to put her mouth as close to the horse’s ear as possible. “It must be obvious, Sweetness, I have no idea what I am about. Be merciful. Take me by the swiftest path straight to your master.” As she straightened from the tête-à-tête, her heels slid along the horse’s flanks.

As if he had understood her words, Sweetness moved several paces forward. Jessica rewarded his effort with high praise and series of staccato pats on the neck. As she straightened, her heels again grazed the horse’s sides and again he advanced.

“That’s good. That is very good indeed.” In her enthusiasm, she pulled back on the rein. He stopped.

Experimentally, she rubbed her heels lightly at his flanks. The horse advanced, slowly at first until Jessica adapted to his gait. Gradually he accelerated until, with no leave from his rider, he lengthened his stride to a gentle lope as they emerged from the path onto the commercial roadway. Feeling at one with the horse, her body rocking in sync with his, Jessica smiled, then laughed out loud at her success.

Clutching the rein, she pulled the cloak more tightly about her and felt as if she had died and gone to heaven. Denied the use of the stirrups, she gripped with her feet, cradling the horse’s barreled body until her legs quivered with the strain.

The animal moved effortlessly, requiring no guidance, back the way he had come. He seemed to know where they were going. As the distance grew, Jessica began to note landmarks to assist in her eventual return, a trip she anticipated she would make on foot.

The horse’s easy lope became a canter as the distance between Jessica and her coops lengthened and the night deepened.

At first she welcomed the bite of the determined little breeze in her face, but after a while it became worrisome and she drew the cloak’s hood over her head and down to cover her eyes and nose. She had little need to see since her companion obviously had their destination in mind.

They traveled for what seemed like an hour as the breeze became wind. Clouds, in turn, played hide and seek with the lemony moon.

Her mother would assume the scullery maids had drawn additional duties at the manor house. Also, her mother knew Jessica’s lack of interest in keeping to schedules.

Still, she was her mother’s last child, subject to the overprotection of that position. She did not trouble her ailing parent without good cause. A man lost, perhaps dying on the road, qualified. But how far had they come? How much farther must they go to find him?

As the wind slapped tree branches overhead, Jessica wrapped the cloak more tightly and found comfort in the musky fragrance of the garment.

There were few travelers on the road, a half-dozen were afoot and not inclined to look up, or address a dark rider as they passed. Other riders were more interested in Sweetness than in the shadowy form in his saddle.

After her initial excitement, the perpetual rhythm of the horse’s hooves, her long day of work in the manor house and her wild flight through the woods took their toll. Jessica nodded only to jerk awake when Sweetness slowed his pace, accommodating her each time the rein slipped from her hands or she slid one way or the other in the saddle.

She roused wide-eyed, however, when her mount began high-stepping and sidling. Perhaps they were nearing his home. She had heard that horses often raced out of control when they neared their barns; therefore, she was puzzled when the huge animal slowed instead of charging ahead. He stopped altogether and turned a wide circle in the road.

Fully awake, Jessica gently applied her heels to his sides. He refused to go.

Without a step to aid her dismount, Jessica gripped the front and rear of the saddle, braced her weight on her hands, worked her legs to the same side of the horse, and then let herself drop. When her feet met the earth, she stumbled and grabbed a stirrup bar to keep herself upright.

Scoring the more-or-less successful dismount as another accomplishment, she looked at the horse, expecting guidance. His eyes rolled as he tossed his head and nickered, dancing sideways, but moving neither forward nor back.

She pulled the rein over his ears and down to lead him, but when she attempted to advance the direction they had been traveling, he balked.

She regarded him with some annoyance as he jerked his nose skyward and blew a loud whinny into the night.

“What is it?” she asked.

The horse bobbed his head up and down, making the hardware on his bridle jangle loudly in the eerie silence.

Cajoling, coaxing, Jessica turned him around and attempted to walk back the way they had come. Again Sweetness set his feet and refused.

Was he daft? She had come this far. She had no intention of simply abandoning this magnificent creature on a commercial road at night.

Tossing his head, he whinnied and pawed the ground.

Trees and brambles lined both sides of the road. Jessica shivered, feeling an ominous presence. Traveling any direction would be safer than standing in the middle of this deserted highway.

The huge horse shook his head and tamped the soft ground.

Jessica stroked his nose. “Come, Sweetness. Please. We need to be away from this place.”

Wind rustling nearby trees produced noises that sounded like human groans. Fearful yet curious, Jessica couldn’t help peering into the shadows beneath the swaying branches.

“All right,” she said, keeping her voice low to mask the panic inside. She swept off the cloak and anchored it behind the saddle, then sucked up her courage and stepped off the road to their left, the direction Sweetness indicated, squirreling in among the trees, tugging the now-docile animal along behind her.

Metal pieces on the horse’s bridle jingled as he followed, as obedient as a lamb. She found the familiar sound reassuring. She led him on, adjusting their course toward the moans that came more frequently and more audibly as she and the jingling, willing mount moved deeper into the wood.

The moans could be coming from an injured animal — a wolf or boar or even a bear recently roused from a winter’s sleep and hungry. Surely Sweetness would not follow if he sensed a predator. Of course, he was the same animal who had raced headlong down a footpath and might have broken his neck on the boulders if she had not waved him off. She probably shouldn’t rely too heavily on his judgment.

Several yards into the underbrush, Jessica came to a barrier of thistled shrubs. The peculiar moaning sounded as if it were just beyond.

Releasing the horse, Jessica dropped onto her hands and knees to push through the prickly undergrowth. Thorns snagged her shoulders and knifed through worn sleeves to puncture her flesh. She bit her lips to keep from crying out, yielding only an occasional whimper that mingled melodiously with the night birds cooing on their roosts, warbling to report her passing.

Wriggling, she burrowed on, listening for the human sound, tuning out the birds’ night calls. Pausing, holding her breath for silence, she heard the distinct sound of running water.

It was neither sight nor hearing, finally, but Jessica’s sense of smell that urged her forward. The familiar fragrance of the cloak drew her — a scent which had been both shield and ally during the long uncertain moments of her ride — into a small clearing.

In the dappled lighting beneath a willow, lay a bundle roughly the size and shape of a man’s head. She scrabbled closer, settling a foot away from the bundle.

“Hello.” She nudged the mound with two fingers. “Please tell me you are a human being and that you are alive.”

No response.

Her breath caught as she considered, then reworded her plea. “Please, please do not be a man dead.”

A groan prefaced movement. One booted foot rustled leaves six feet away as a ruddy face framed by a mop of pale, tousled hair, floated up from the debris at her fingertips. She scrabbled back.

His flesh looked mottled in the intermittent moonlight through the trees. The face mumbled a string of what might have been coarse language, before the man hiked himself onto an elbow. His eyes were open, but didn’t appear to focus. His voice emerged as a snarl.

“I can scarcely move my legs, my head is pounding, and my throat is on fire.” He paused. “Alive or dead? You pronounce.”

Jessica allowed a smile. If he were able to speak so of his situation, he must be better off than he sounded … or looked.

Her questions came rapid-fire. “What happened? Who are you? What would you have me do?”

His eyes rolled and he blinked but appeared confused. The spotty moonlight sporadically peeped from the branches overhead. Clouds swept the restless nighttime sky. A smudge on the man’s forehead ebbed and flowed in the shadows. The blemish might be blood seeping from a wound.

Another shadow, one she decided was facial hair, circled his mouth and made him appear at once sinister and provocative. A thin beard followed the line of his jaws from the goatee to sideburns in the fashion of the day. The man looked to be of unusual size, well conformed, and perhaps even comely.