Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (30 page)

Watching them ride out, the crofter said dubiously, "I'll
allow 'tis warranted. Under the caircumstances. Their pa dyin', ye ken."

"Aye." His wife nudged him in the ribs. "If '
tis
Carlisle they're bound fer in sic a tearing rush. They didna look much
like kinfolk tae me. Him sae bonny and dark, and her sae fair.''

"Whist! They didna act like lovers, neither. Scarce a worrud
'twixt 'em the entire time."

"Much
ye
know o' lovers!" she scoffed,
then squealed as he chased her into the house.

Redmond set a steady pace that afternoon, so that Charity soon
began to chafe at their rate of progress and wonder if it was out of
concern for her that they travelled so slowly. She glanced at him,
preparing to broach the subject, but he had not spoken for the past
hour and his face was set in such grim lines that she decided to say
nothing. After another hour, their route followed what was little more
than an uphill footpath, becoming ever more steep. When they reached
the summit, Redmond looked back, and Charity turned also. Green hills
and gently sloping valleys spread as far as she could see, but still
there was no sign of riders, and her heart sank. Surely, if all had
gone well, Justin and Tris and Devenish would have come after her.
Surely, at least
they
would have come… unless…
She thrust such dark conjecture away and turned back. Redmond's eyes
were shifting away from her. He said quietly, "They may have led
Claude's lot in another direction, you know."

She brightened. "Yes! Or perhaps they decided to go to Steep
Drummond and ask the General for help after all."

"Very likely. Do you have any notion how many men were in the
boats you saw?"

"About twenty in each, I should think."

He was silent, frowning slightly.

"Oh!" exclaimed Charity. "You are thinking that even if my
brother and the rest of them did ride to Steep Drummond, Claude could
afford to split his men!"

He said dryly, "No one could accuse you of being dull-witted,
Miss Strand."

"Then why do we go so slowly? It will be dark soon, and this
is
Saturday
, Mr. Redmond."

He pointed ahead. "That is why," he said simply.

Looking where he indicated, Charity gave a gasp. Gone were the
gentle hills. Before them lay an increasingly rugged landscape with
jutting crags and boulder-strewn ravines. The white plume of a
waterfall shot out from a steep bluff a mile or so distant, the
sunlight awakening a small rainbow about the descending spray. Below
them, a hurrying stream sparkled, and the lesser slopes were rich with
trees and shrubs and the royal carpet of the heather.

Watching her thin face, Redmond saw her lower lip sag a little
and the great greenish eyes take on an awed glow. "Oh, how
magnificent," she breathed.

"I doubt the horses would agree," he said with brusque
impatience, and started his chestnut forward again. "If we're to reach
Dumfries before dark, ma'am, we must go along as steadily as we can
without overtaxing these poor hacks."

"Before
dark
?" she echoed anxiously.
"Good heavens! I'd fancied we were almost there. How far have we to go?"

"About twenty miles." He added, "As the crow flies."

But they were not crows. The terrain became ever more
difficult. There were no paths now, and he could only be on the lookout
for the few landmarks the crofter had told him of. They had to dismount
often and lead their horses, clambering over rocky and uneven ground.
Charity, her balance not good at best, followed Redmond's mare,
stumbling often and glad he did not see her clumsiness. As the miles
slowly slipped past, she began to tire again, but she persevered
doggedly, refusing to look ahead, struggling to keep pace, and
determined not to allow exhaustion to overpower her.

She soon discovered that going up was dreadful, but that going
down was worse. They were leading the horses, another waterfall booming
to their left, when her boot turned on the slippery surface and she
could not restrain a shriek as she fell. An arm of iron whipped around
her. She was slammed against Redmond's chest, her nose buried in his
cravat. Shuddering, she clung to him for an instant, then pulled away,
panting out her thanks.

This time when she looked up at him, he did not evade her
glance but scanned her face narrowly. "Are you all right? I'm a clod
for not remembering that you were ill for a long time."

"No, really. I'm perfectly… fine, now." She fought to regain
her breath and—ignoring the catch in her side, her stiff aching muscles
and sore feet—summoned a smile. It faded when it was returned by a
scowl. Her heart sinking again, she faltered, "I am slowing you
dreadfully… am I?"

A reluctant smile dawned. "You are doing splendidly. All this
clambering about and no word of complaint. How fortunate I am that you
are no pampered beauty, else I do not doubt I'd have been dealing with
the vapours long since."

He was surprised that these kind remarks should have produced
such a stormy look. Guessing (wrongly) at the reason, he admitted, "I
should have kept to the main road, I suppose. But it seemed safer not
to do so. And the crofter told me we could lop ten miles from the
journey by following this route. Cheer up, ma'am. We will rest for a
moment. The horses—"

"Are doing very well," she put in with a determined little
nod. "Mr. Redmond, you must not think of me as a woman. I am simply a—a
comrade in arms!"

It was unfortunate that at that moment of nobility she should
stumble again. Steadying her, Redmond's eyes began to twinkle. "So
that's what is meant by that term," he said, his arm about her waist.

Mortified, she pushed him away. "You mistake it! I had not the
least intention— I mean, pray do not suppose I want, er, I mean—''

He released her as though her touch burnt him. "But of course.
I am not to think of you as a woman. Very understandable." And with his
faintly sneering smile he said, "
En avant
,
Monsieur Mulot."

"
Fieldmouse
?" expostulated Charity,
indignantly.

"I am told not to think of you as a woman. I must think of you
as you requested—a comrade. A male comrade. And fieldmice are small as
is my comrade. Also, they have very bright eyes.'' He shrugged. '' Now,
if you are done with this frivolity, miss—monsieur, perhaps we might
continue?"

He took up his reins and walked on.

Following, Charity muttered, "Fieldmouse, indeed!"

Soon, they left the rugged passes and came out into more open
country. Redmond seemed relieved and, suspecting he had been lost,
Charity asked if he knew where they were.

"Still in Scotland," he replied noncommittally.

She sniffed. "How very illuminating."

The corners of his lips quivered. He slanted an amused glance
at her. "Wildcat!"

"Do not confuse your creatures, sir. I am the fieldmouse,
remember?"

"True. Very well, monsieur. Prepare yourself. We must travel
faster now, else we'll be caught out all night."

"How fortunate that I am not a 'pampered beauty,' " she
retorted dryly.

So that was what had irked her. With a furtive grin he said,
"Yes, indeed," thereby further infuriating her, and spurred to a gallop.

Unaccountably, tears stung Charity's eyes. She had pushed back
the hair from her perspiring forehead so many times that she was very
sure she had a dirty face. And if her coiffure had suffered as badly as
she suspected, she must look a fright. But she
had
managed to keep up, and all he could do was speak scarcely a word for
hours and then be horrid. Spurring so as to come up with him, she
thought, "I wonder if Claude is near?" Shivering, she glanced back. The
hills rose green and peaceful and majestic, with no sign of pursuing
riders.

"Monsieur Mulot, wake up!"

The voice was far away but there was an urgency about it that
demanded a response. Opening heavy eyes, Charity saw something dark and
hairy within an inch of her nose, and she sprang up with a small shriek.

It was dusk and cold, and she was still mounted on the poor
hack. Mitchell Redmond stood at her left stirrup, looking up at her.
Reality burst in upon her, and her mouth drooped.

"Bad dream?" Redmond enquired mildly.

"I thought it was a great spider," she said foolishly. And
then, overcome by guilt, "Oh, I am so sorry! What a widgeon I am."

He stared up at her, his smile fading.

Stung, she thought, "He might at least have denied it!"

"Where are we now?" she asked, and added a pithy, "Or do you
know, Mr. Redmond?"

"We are coming into Dumfries. See the lights yonder? But your
horse has thrown a shoe, I think, and you cannot ride through the town
with your skirts hoisted up over your knees. Although they're pretty
knees, I grant you."

"How dare—" Her gaze flashed downward. Aghast, she saw that he
was perfectly correct, but when she instinctively made to tug at her
skirts, her hands refused to move.

Redmond said, "If you will dismount now. Monsieur Mulot…?" His
voice hardened. "I assure you I mean only to lift you down."

"Yes. I heard you. But I—I cannot seem to move."

Frowning, he reached up and began gently to unpry her fingers.
They were icy cold and white from the sustained effort of holding to
the reins. "Poor fieldmouse," he said in a very kind voice. "At least
tonight should see the end of this for you. There—lean to me, now."

She obeyed, but when he set her down, she could not walk and
would have fallen if he'd not continued to hold her. She thought no
more of it than that she was stiff from the unaccustomed exercise, but
Mitchell, recalling that she'd been without the use of her legs for
three years, was terrified. Having not the least notion of that fact,
she wailed faintly, "How stupid!"

"Nonsense," he said gruffly. "But you shall have to endure my
touch, I'm afraid."

She glanced at him sharply, but he was looking around the
rough moorland rise whereon they had halted. He carried her to a small
boulder nearby and sat her on it.

"Here we go," he said, and whipped up the skirts of her habit.

With an outraged shriek, Charity sprang up. Redmond
straightened also and made a lunge for her.

With all her strength, she slapped his face and tottered back.
"Beast!" she screamed. "Horrid, womanizing, cowardly beast!"

Even in the dusk she saw his face whiten. Then he was upon
her. Ignoring the little fists that clawed and beat at him, he swung
her into his arms, carried her back to the rock and slammed her onto it
once more. He flinched as her nails raked his cheek, and he seized her
flying fists, holding them so tightly that she was powerless and
crouched in helpless fury, glaring up at him.

"Had you an ounce of common sense, madam," he snarled between
his teeth,"you would know my
only
thought was to
restore the use of your limbs as quickly as possible. Certainly not to
roll you around in the grass for a jolly interlude!"

Her cheeks flamed, and her eyes fell before the fierce blaze
of his own. He muttered something furiously, but she made no further
demur as he pulled up her skirts again. He began to massage her legs,
his hands firm and strong and efficient, until she began to fear the
frail stuff of her lacy chemise would rip under his ministrations.
Soon, the blood was coursing through her legs so painfully that she
could scarcely keep from weeping. Somehow, she kept silent, sitting
there feeling beyond words ridiculous with her legs stuck out and her
flaming face averted, until he sighed and drew back.

He said with cold but meticulous politeness, "There, ma'am.
See if you can stand now."

Without a word, Charity took his hand and stood. She gasped as
she began to totter about, but she did not fall.

Redmond said judicially, "That's better. We'll walk a little
way, and then you can ride my horse. We shall have to get yours shod,
but with luck we can ride these hacks again after we find some food for
all of us."

Charity's attempt to answer was foiled by the refusal of her
voice to obey her wishes. She felt sunk with shame that she had behaved
in such a way, but also horribly embarrassed that Mr. Redmond had seen
her undergarments and had touched her legs. Yet she knew also that he
did indeed regard her as an object, not as a woman. And that his
intentions had been so far from what she'd imagined that he must think
her a total henwit.

Looking at her averted face, he said scornfully,"Lord, are you
still trembling, then? I do assure you, Monsieur Mulot, that you've no
least cause for such maidenly fears. This— coward—will never lay hands
upon your, er, limbs again."

She heard the brief pause before he said "coward'' and the
harsh bitterness with which it was ground out, and her heart thudded
into her shoes. Why
ever
had she called him so?
How could she have used that word after what had transpired in Claude's
war room? How
could
she have been so thoughtless
and so cruel? Wretchedly, she stammered, "No, I did not mean— That is,
I—I know you were trying to—"

"Here," he said impatiently, "mount up, and we'll be on our
way. You can ride sidesaddle for this last leg—er, I mean, for this
last part of the journey—if you can manage."

Meekly, she allowed him to boost her into the saddle. She
could have wept when her blistered bottom struck the leather, but she
clenched her teeth, clung to the pommel, and endured.

Redmond stalked ahead, leading her hack. Charity watched his
ramrod-stiff back. He had behaved disgracefully with Claude, at first.
But he was no coward, for a coward would never have walked alone into
Tor Keep; besides, once freed of the menace of the whip, he had fought
bravely and well.

Glancing up miserably, she saw the lights drawing nearer.
Puzzled, she called, "Mr. Redmond, I had thought it a larger town."