Sweet Temptation (15 page)

Sara leaned back in the creaking, swaying coach and tried to ignore the fear that encircled her heart in a constricting band. The last few days had been a terrifying experience, and only the presence of a calm, placid Betty seated next to her kept Sara from bolting back to Parkhaven House.

Having endured the shock of appearing in public as a man, and surviving her first experience with all male companionship, she had been promptly faced with the fact that she would also have to share a bed with them. Only the certainty that she would have to slink back to London in disgrace, and the help of a friendly squire, had enabled her to endure that experience.

But the squire had left them early on the third day, and now Sara found herself seated next to a petty merchant of small means and even smaller interest in any person other than himself. He kept up a constant monologue about his tribulations, the injustice of the law, and the heaviness of the tax burden, until an exceedingly fat woman told him no one was interested in him or his troubles, even if they had been interesting, which they weren’t, and if he didn’t shut up, she was going to empty a jar of pickled cherries over him.

Indignant, the merchant did subside, but the atmosphere in the coach became so uncomfortable that Sara wished the lady had let him talk. Besides, Sara liked him more than the other male passengers, one of whom rode inside and the other outside on the roof. The man in the coach was quiet, looked rather furtive, and generally made Sara nervous.

She didn’t feel any better when she learned the four of them were to share a huge four-poster bed. Spending two nights in perfect safety with the squire had given her some courage, and as Betty said, what can happen with four of them in the room?

The innocents found out next morning. Sometime during the night, two of the passengers broke into the merchant’s and Sara’s portmanteaux, stole their money, and disappeared. This time the merchant created a disturbance even the fat lady couldn’t quell. He caused the sheriff, the constable, and the justice of the peace to be summoned to the inn, and demanded that the villains be apprehended at once.

When at length the officials were at liberty to turn to Sara, she made as little as possible of her loss, though the consequences were more serious for her than the merchant. She had a few shillings, Betty had a few more, and their ticket was paid up for two more days, but a check with the stage agent showed that their accumulated funds were insufficient to get them to Scotland. They would run out of money somewhere near the border.

“We don’t even have enough to get back to London,” Betty moaned.

“I won’t go back,” Sara said, stamping her foot. “There must be a way to reach Scotland.”

“Not without money.”

“We can work.”

“It would take more than I could earn to pay for our lodging.”

“I can work, too,” Sara insisted.

“It’s not a fit thing. Besides, what could you do?”

Nothing, Sara admitted.

“Why don’t you send his lordship a letter saying that you’ve been robbed, that you’re continuing on to Scotland on foot, and if he wishes to avoid the shame of having his wife taken up as a vagrant, he should immediately dispatch enough money for us to reach Scotland.”

“That ought to bring him hotfoot, or at least his steward,” declared Sara, laughing in spite of the gravity of their situation. “Now let’s see if we have overlooked any coins.” A diligent search turned up a pound secreted in a pocket, and a few extra shillings fallen into the lining of her greatcoat, but there was hardly enough to keep them for more than a few days.

Suddenly Betty brightened. “I have an old aunt who lives below Carlisle, near the border.”

“Do you think she would let us stay until Gavin could come for us?”

“Of course she would, and she wouldn’t have you scrubbing pots to pay for your keep either,” Betty added with a snort. “But we’ll need more than these few shillings if we’re to reach Carlisle.”

At last the merchant’s protests came to an end, and all the passengers boarded the coach to resume their journey. The merchant continued to complain loudly of his plight, and the fat lady not only allowed him to repeat, in excruciating detail, every word of the several lengthy discussions he had held with the representatives of the law during the course of the morning, but she went so far as to inquire into the nature of his business and his private situation. The merchant positively bloomed under her attention, until Sara was excessively thankful at the end of the day to be relieved of his droning voice.

“What more can you expect when invaders are allowed to march right into the country and molest honest citizens?” the innkeeper asked, when appraised of the robbery.

“What invaders?” Sara asked in some alarm. The merchant was displeased to have the conversation turn to a subject other than himself, but the fat lady had heard all she wanted about him and his troubles, and encouraged the landlord to answer Sara’s question.

“Haven’t you heard about the Scots?” he asked.

They had heard tales of a scavenging army and of rapine and outrage, but Sara could not fail to notice that the countryside looked as peaceful and undisturbed as that outside London. The citizens seemed to enjoy telling of the horrible Highland Scots, instead of actually being frightened of them. She wondered if they should turn back, but as they had no money, they had no choice but to go forward. Besides, there was nothing for her in London. Her only chance lay in reaching Scotland and winning her bet with the Earl.

Betty kept their small hoard of cash and guarded every penny with a stern eye. She argued with the innkeeper over the price and quality of the dinner, and refused to pay the sum demanded for their rooms.

“He’ll never let us come here again,” said Sara, when they were on the coach again.

“We won’t need to,” Betty replied, sniffing in contempt at the poor hostelry. “Once his lordship comes for us, we won’t have anything to do with the likes of him.” Sara noticed that the mention of Gavin had drawn the attention of the other passengers, and she signalled Betty to be silent. She didn’t relish having to offer explanations no one would believe.

Gavin took an unsatisfying swallow of beer. He had drunk too much tonight. In fact, he had drunk too much every night. He told himself he was drinking to get over his mother’s death, and because his father was an inhuman bastard, but he didn’t tell himself he was drinking to forget the accusing blue eyes which haunted him whenever he was alone. That would have been too close to the truth, and he wasn’t ready for the truth, not yet.

But no amount of beer could make him forget the hurt and shock in Sara’s eyes, or how it had turned to fear and desolation. The only time he had been in her presence and
not
done something unforgivable was during the short ride from the church, and he knew it was that trip which had caused him to go to Sara on his wedding night instead of Clarice.

It would have been better if he’d kept to his original plan. Then he would only have to reproach himself for marrying her without regard for her feelings. And he couldn’t justify what he’d done by using the argument that both his mother and father had assured him that Sara wanted the marriage. W hatever
her
reasons,
he
had married her for a coward’s reasons—he could admit that now—and his conscience wouldn’t let him forget it.

A crack of mirthless laughter drew curious stares.

Everyone thought he had gone straight from Sara’s bed to Clarice, but that was a joke, on all three of them. All he had wanted to do was get away from the reminders of what he had done. Even when Clarice was standing on his stoop demanding entrance, he probably wouldn’t have let her in if the look on her face hadn’t told him that something other than desire had brought her to his door. Now he had turned his back on her, too; Sara’s trim and lovely body had destroyed his taste for opulent widows.

Wouldn’t his father love to know that. How did it happen the bastard was always right?

But the Earl had misjudged his son this time. He would not be part of a marriage that was a lie. Sara was welcome to live in London and enjoy the advantages of his title, as long as he could stay in Scotland, but if she wanted a divorce, he would give it to her. He saw no reason why she should be made to suffer for the rest of her life.

Gavin made a face. His mouth tasted like the outside of a fuzz ball, and he shoved his tankard away.

But Gavin still couldn’t forget those haunting eyes, or escape the memory of Sara as she came down the aisle, her eyes shining with guileless love and unbounded hope. How could she be so innocent and unsuspecting? Didn’t she know his title and social position weren’t worth the deceit, lies, and the hurt? Or didn’t she care? Her blindness had angered him, and he had let the fury flash from his eyes. It was then he had seen her happiness wither and die, like a lily cast into the fire. Her look of terror was more terrible than a shouted accusation, and he had kissed her in retaliation.

For the rest of his life, he would remember how she looked as she lay at his feet. Somehow it was worse than anything that had happened that night. It sounded inane when he put it into words, but it was a first betrayal, the first loss of innocence. He could still recall the moment that had shattered his image of his father, and the subsequent pain that had made him physically sick. He never thought anyone could be hurt as much as he had been, but the look in Sara’s eyes when he released her had been one of utter desolation, and it was all his fault.

With a soul-wrenching moan, Gavin reached for his beer and drained the tankard. He didn’t want it, but he didn’t want to remember either.

Chapter 11

Sara and Betty’s time on the coach came to an end sooner than they had anticipated. In Lancaster, more than ten miles from their destination, they found they could not pay for their ticket.

“Mayhap you can beg a ride with the Stuart Prince,” the driver said derisively. “They say he’s coming this way.” Betty had some very sharp words to say, and she shook her fist at him with the promise of dire consequences if ever their paths should cross again, but he was not in the least sympathetic to their plight and put them out on the road, baggage and all.

The local innkeeper didn’t regard them in a much kindlier light. His pocketbook had suffered from the Prince’s first visit, and he wasn’t looking forward to a second. True, the Highlanders had behaved well, but it was his loudly stated opinion that people who found themselves in the path of an army came off the worse for it sooner or later.

“Be off with you,” he said rudely, when he found they could not pay for their accommodations, yet expected to occupy his best rooms until Gavin could come for them. “Lords and countesses!” he sniffed. “I’ve heard some brazen tales in my time, but none the likes of this.”

Betty assumed a threatening stance, one the innkeeper eyed uneasily since she towered a full head above him, but Sara restrained her.

“Would you agree to keep our baggage until we can send for it?” she inquired with as much dignity as she could infuse into her voice. “If we don’t claim it within a fortnight, you can sell it.”

The innkeeper seemed disposed to refuse. He didn’t want to get involved with
anybody
heading toward Scotland, but the baggage was obviously of the first quality. He stood to receive a handsome sum if he sold it, so he agreed to keep it for one week.

Sara and Betty took to the road. At first it was exhilarating; Sara had never walked through a town or the countryside, and now she was at leisure to gaze at everything they passed. The town, with its closely packed houses and cobbled streets, was soon left behind; the countryside appeared friendly in the warm sun, but it wasn’t long before Sara’s feet hurt and her shoulders ached from the weight of her small valise. Then it began to rain, and the cold and wet penetrated her bones. They had enough money to buy some bread and cheese at a farmhouse, but they were forced to enjoy it in the shelter of an empty barn set some distance from the road.

“We might as well sleep here,” said Betty, noting that the rain had increased and the light was almost gone. Sara was sure she couldn’t get a wink of sleep. She kept expecting someone to come along and throw them out, but Betty closed the door, propped a board against it, and made a bed for them in the straw.

The next day was the worst day of Sara’s life. The rain was still falling when they woke, and by the time she had gone a mile, she was as wet and muddy as the road she traveled. They lunched on bread and cheese again, but as it was their third meal on the same fare, it was no longer very appetizing.

“We ought to reach my aunt’s late tonight,” Betty said, hoping to raise Sara’s spirits.

“I don’t know if I can last that long,” Sara groaned, rising from the knoll where they had rested while they ate. “But if anything can keep me on my feet, it’s the prospect of spending the night in a bed instead of a barn.”

About an hour after lunch, they were overtaken by a small group of men. At first Sara thought they were going to join the Duke of Cumberland’s army, but when they saw that several of them wore tartans, she realized they had been overtaken by the rebels themselves. This was the army of Bonny Prince Charlie.

“They
are
invading England!” Betty exclaimed.

“They’re going in the same direction,” Sara pointed out, “so they must be leaving.” But Betty didn’t seem to find any comfort in that.