Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 08] - Sanguinet's Crown (32 page)

She looked up at him as they came to the downstairs hall. It
was the first time she'd seen his face clearly since the previous
afternoon, for everything after dusk was a vague blur. Guilt seized her
when she saw the scratches she'd put on his cheek. He looked stern, and
she said, "You must be just as anxious as I. Your uncle seems such a
warm-hearted man, and Rachel told me that you and your brother are very
attached.''

His expression softened. "Yes. I've seen little of Harry this
past year, but he's a dashed good fellow."

At this point the tavern keeper bustled up to them, all
smiles, to usher them into the coffee room where a fire was already
roaring up the chimney, and a branch of candles brightening the table
he led them to.

Pulling out Charity's chair, Redmond said, "I'm afraid we
can't wait, host. We'll have whatever's ready. When does the smithy
open?"

"Which one, sir?" His dark little eyes beaming merrily, the
rotund man answered, "There be an ample sufficiency of 'em hereabouts."

"Natural enough in a town this size." Redmond took the
opposite chair. "It was a short way down the lane."

"Ah, ye'll be meaning Samuel's, I expect. He's likely at work
this hour and more. Now, sir, we've some rare cold ham, and me old
woman's already got eggs a-sizzling in the pan. With some fresh
bannocks and coffee—would that suit?"

It suited very well, and when they had done justice to it and
the host had poured two steaming mugs of excellent coffee and departed,
Charity asked, "Should we not delay long enough to look about the town
a little before we leave? Our people may have come up with us in the
night."

"So might Sanguinet. And we'd waste a good hour until full
light."

Charity trembled and raised no more demurrals. Redmond paid
their tariff, and they went into the cold misty dawn and started down
the lane. Despite the abigail's ministrations, Charity was aghast to
find she could scarcely put one foot before the other, and her knees
seemed during the night to have become markedly farther apart than
they'd been hitherto. She had the unhappy impression that she was
waddling like a duck and was grateful for the darkness as she struggled
along.

The smithy door was wide, the bellows busily at work, the
brazier glowing. The horses were ready, and Charity noted with delight
that a sidesaddle had been put on the mare. Redmond ignored her thanks,
being himself exasperated by the charges, which he grumbled were
excessive. The smith gave him a hard look, and for a moment Charity
thought he was going to refuse to divulge the direction to Carlisle,
but he barked out a few instructions, then turned and went off, to come
back with a folded sheet of paper that he thrust at Redmond. "Here," he
grunted. "Ye might find this of use."

Somewhat mollified, Redmond put the paper in his pocket. He
paid the man off, threw Charity up into the saddle, and they rode into
the lane.

"Odd old duck," Redmond muttered.

Trying not to whimper as she adjusted painfully to the
movements of the horse, Charity pointed out that it was nice of the
smith to write down the direction for them.

"Nice, but scarcely necessary. His instructions were not so
complex I can't remember 'em."

Despite this assertion, it was still too dark to see very far,
and Redmond had to strain his eyes to find the narrow lane the smith
had suggested they follow. Charity tried to ignore her many discomforts
and sent up a belated prayer of thanks for their having journeyed this
far without being caught by Sanguinet's men. She followed this with a
plea that today she might do better and not become so exhausted as she
had done yesterday.

They left the lane when they came to a wider thoroughfare, and
soon were clattering over a bridge. By the time the sky in the east was
lightening, they had turned south and the intervening hills blocked any
view they might have had of Dumfries. They held to a steady lope for
several miles, and it seemed to Charity that she ached less, perhaps
because she was so much more at home in the familiar sidesaddle.

The sun came up; a few clouds drifted lazily about, and the
azure sky promised a lovely day to come. Redmond was quiet and
withdrawn. His shirt looked freshly laundered, and his cravat was as
neatly tied as though his faithful little valet had dressed him. His
lean face was slightly bronzed, which made him, thought Charity, better
looking than ever, but he seemed troubled and she wondered if he'd lost
his way again. She said nothing, fearing to ruffle his famous pride.

Meeting her gaze, he said, "D'ye see the water to the west of
us? That'll be the Solway."

The sparkling blue Firth looked cool and inviting against the
deep green of the meadows. "How very pretty it is,'' she murmured.

Redmond scowled. "We can't dawdle like this, ma'am." She
looked at him, and he added grimly, "It is Sunday."

She thought, "Heaven help us! It is!" and urged her willing
mare to a canter.

It was very early, and for a time they encountered little
traffic. An occasional cart rattled northwards, and once a stagecoach
bowled past at a great rate of speed, the outside passengers hanging on
for dear life and looking tired and rumpled.

Soon Redmond slowed to the lope again. The miles and hours
slipped away, and the sun became warmer. Up hill and down they went,
through dappled drowsing woods and beside serene lakes, until gradually
the trees gave way to rolling heathland, mile upon mile of it,
stretching away to the horizon. Charity was beginning to long for a
rest when Redmond reined in and sat motionless, staring ahead so
fixedly that her heart gave a leap of apprehension. Looking where he
looked, she saw what appeared to be an elevated path, long and narrow,
winding away to east and west as far as the eye could see, the stone
sides that supported it covered with mosses and small plants, the
narrow surface grassed over.

Awed, she whispered, "Hadrian's Wall! Oh, I had never realized
it stuck up so high!"

"Twelve feet or thereabouts," he murmured. "Higher in the
east."

It was quite a different voice. Charity glanced at him
sharply. The stern expression had given way to a dreaming look; a
younger look. She thought, "So this is the scholar." And wanting for
some obscure reason to prolong this new mood, she said, "Only think, it
has been standing here on guard like this, for seventeen hundred years."

He smiled in proprietary fashion at that mighty wall. "There
were one thousand cavalry at Carlisle."

"Yes. Romans, with their tunics and swords and helms… Oh, Mr.
Redmond, can you not picture them riding proudly along the top? Dare we
. .

He turned to her, a boyish eagerness lighting his eyes. "The
horses should have a rest…"

They grinned conspiratorially at each other, galloped down the
slope, and turned off the road at the foot of the wall.

Redmond leapt from the saddle and lifted Charity down. They
tethered the horses to some nearby shrubs. Redmond put out his hand,
Charity put hers into it, and they ran along until they came to some
rough steps leading upwards. Redmond helped Charity over the more
difficult spots, and at the top they stepped gingerly onto the ancient
surface, their feet treading where the sandals of Rome's Centurions had
trod so many long centuries ago. They walked only a short way and by
mutual consent stopped, looking north to the rugged grandeur that was
Scotland and south to the blue mountains of England.

There was no sign of another human being. The sweet warm air
whispered against their faces; a solitary puffy white cloud meandered
across the heavens; a little clump of wild-flowers danced to the tune
of the breeze, lifting pink and violet faces to the sun. Charity closed
her eyes for a moment. Only the faint call of a cuckoo disturbed the
silence—a silence that might have been that of almost two thousand
years past… Almost she could hear the tramp of feet, the clank of
sidearms; almost she could see the glint of the sun on armour… Opening
her eyes, she saw Redmond watching her, faintly smiling.

'"The inaudible and noiseless foot of time,' " he quoted.

"Yes. I wonder what they talked of, or hoped for. One pictures
them as having been so strong and merciless. But I suppose they were
only ordinary human beings, marching along this wall in a strange,
barbaric land. Dreaming of sweethearts, perhaps, or wives and children
left behind…"

"Or of dinner, waiting up ahead. But only see how it goes on
and on. Is it not marvelous? Yet how many wretched lives were spent in
laying these stones one upon the other, day after day, year after
year.''

Charity stumbled, and his arm went out instinctively to steady
her. Unthinkingly, she allowed her arm to slip in a reciprocal fashion
around his waist. "I wonder," she said, "if they had any notion it
would last this long?"

Her words jogged him back to harsh reality. "We have been here
too long," he said. And only then did they both notice exactly how they
stood.

They each stepped back hurriedly. Redmond glanced to the
north, trod on a crumbling edge that disintegrated beneath his boot,
and toppled. One instant he was beside Charity. The next, with a
shocked cry, he had fallen from sight.

She gave a little shriek, picked up the skirts of her habit
and fairly flew to the steps. Backing down, she slid the last three,
skinning her knees, but she scrambled up at once to race, panicked, to
where he lay.

He lifted his head and peered up at her. "
What
a gudgeon you must think… me," he panted laughingly.

She sank down beside him. "Are you all right? My heavens! You
might have broken your back!"

He felt his side and one hip, and said with a rueful grin, "I
think my, er, dignity is bruised."

Relieved, she said, "Another affliction we share."

He lay there for a minute, catching his breath, watching her.
Touched by the sun, her hair formed a bright halo around her fragile
features, and he saw that now, in this light, her eyes were more green
than grey. "She's really quite a taking little thing, "he thought. "And
pluck to the backbone…"

"What," he asked, "is the other?"

"Why, our love of history, of course."

"Yes." He sat up. "And if we're to see England's history
prosper, Monsieur Mulot, we must be on our way."

Charity picked up the paper that had fallen from his jacket
during his rapid descent. "Your directions… comrade."

He accepted the paper, stood, and assisted Charity to her
feet. Starting off, he gripped his side. ''Jove,'' he said, as her
anxious eyes flew to his face, "the ground's harder than I'd thought.
Never mind"—he flourished the paper—"on to Carlisle! Now how do you
suppose that slowtop thought I could read his directions in the dark?"
He unfolded the sheet, glancing at it idly.

Holding up her habit, Charity walked along a few steps,
realized he was not beside her and turned back.

He was staring down at the directions, the paper shaking in
his hand, his face white as a sheet, and his expression one of stark
horror.

Frightened, she cried, "Oh! Whatever is it?"and ran back to
him.

He whipped the paper behind him and retreated a step, his eyes
very wide as he stared at her. "My God…!" he gasped. "Oh, my
God
!"

"What?
What
?"

"Of all the
damnable
things!" He
withdrew another step, still staring at her as though she had suddenly
changed into a griffin. "I
thought
it took us too
long to get to Dumfries! But that stupid crofter said if I didn't know
the country 'twould likely seem a
three
day's
journey rather than one, so I never suspected—"

Wringing her hands, terrified by his distraught manner, she
demanded, "What are you talking about? I do not understand. Why should
it be so bad if we are a little out of our way? We've still time, have
we not?"

"A
lifetime
!" he groaned, throwing up
one clenched fist to his forehead. And then, recovering a little, he
took a deep breath, drew himself up, and his face still very pale, his
mouth twitching, said hoarsely, "Madam… I—I scarce know how to tell
you." He bit his lip and went on as steadily as he could manage, "That
damnable
smithy last night was—was not in Dumfries! It was—" Words failed him,
but he squared his shoulders, gripped his hands tighter, and ploughed
on. "It was in—Gretna Green."

"Oh, was it?" Charity said. "How I should like to have seen
the marriage chapels. It was so dark when we got there, that I saw very
little…of…" Her words trailed off, a dread suspicion striking her. How
desperately he watched her, and a little pulse was beating and beating
beside his mouth.

"Most of the marriages performed in Gretna Green," Redmond
croaked, "are not performed in churches, ma'am, but over the… the anvil
of a… smithy."

A faint, squawking shriek escaped Charity. Her attempt to
speak was foiled because her throat seemed to have closed entirely.

"We," Redmond confirmed in anguish, "are…
married
!"

"
No
!" She snatched the paper from his
palsied hand, spread it, and read her doom. "It
cannot
be!" she wailed. "We took no vows! We made no promises!"

"We—I told them we were in a—a hurry, and—and to expedite
matters."

"Oh!
Oh
! How
could
you? I do not
want
to be married to you, Mr.
Redmond!"

"By God! Do you think that I—" He bit back the rest of that
unchivalrous rejoinder and ground his teeth in a passion of rageful
frustration.

"You
must
have known," she accused, her
eyes flashing with panic, "when those beastly men all giggled and
behaved in such a way. Oh,
how
could you have
been so lost you thought we were in
Dumfries
,
when all the time—"