Page 86 of The Bastard's Iberian Bride
Chapter 17
As a husband, Bink Gibson was proving to be a puzzle, one she was struggling to solve. He played many characters—bluff yeoman, shrewd steward, fierce warrior, skilled lover.
No. That last wasn’t a character. That was truly him. He’d been crafty enough turning her own plan to seduce a promise out of him into a ravishment.
Heat rose in her face, and she shifted on her seat, her foot hitting one of the two hampers of food Bink had insisted on. They’d not stopped except to change horses and replenish those hampers.
Thankfully, the two maids slept, giving Paulette time to think. The pace of this grueling trip made them collapse, almost immediately, butshecould not sleep, not after her wedding night, not after what she’d discovered.
And what was that, Paulette?
Warmth curled in her heart, warmth that felt like joy.
Or could it be love? She pushed it down. She had no sense of how such feelings could last, and perhaps she had no right. They’d married for money, hadn’t they?
Besides, Gibson was being obstinate, and she didn’t entirely trust him. He’d promised they’d talk about going to London, but after one more round of lovemaking, she’d awakened alone in her bed and found Mabel and Jenny mopping up brandy and packing her bag for a hasty departure.
Word had come, in the person of two hard-riding Greencastle grooms. Spellen had gone missing, Agruen was bound for London, and cavalry was advancing on Manchester. Her husband had shared the news during their hurried breakfast, and promised they’d talk about London later, after he’d brought her safely to Greencastle.
Perhaps he thought when they reached Hackwell’s estate, he would talk, and she would listen. Perhaps he thought he would lock her up with Lord and Lady Hackwell, or transport her to Cransdall.
He couldtry.
She leaned against the squab, wriggled her aching bottom, and let her eyes drift shut. They’d not stopped the night, nor would they, and each change she managed to stay awake for taught her something new. She’d learned much on this trip about traveling, about inns, about the coaching system. Her funds would hold her until London.
Outside, a low conversation rumbled, audible, but not understandable. Their numbers had swollen to include the two new Hackwell grooms, ex-soldiers Mabel had learned, and Kincaid’s two Scotsmen. And Bink had tied her knife’s sheath to her arm.If need be,go for something soft, he’d said. The belly, the kidneys, the eye.
The eye. The thought made her insides squirm, and she scolded herself. Jock had told her the same thing, years ago, when he’d tutored her. And she must not be squeamish. Her mama hadn’t been, Jock had said. If it came to it, she would defend herself and her maids.
She must stay awake. She must at least try. The ache of her bones, the prospect of a fight, the plots to be made about escaping to London, all kept her on edge. A day, a night, and another day—if her husband could stay awake seated atop a horse, so could she in this plush coach.
Asmattering of bedraggled walkers, men and a surprising number of women, had stepped to the side for them, eying the coach, the riders, the servants up top, and especially, the butt of the pistol at Kincaid’s waist, and the shotgun in the hired Scotsman’s grip.
Bink had kept his pair of Mantons more carefully concealed. When he’d stopped to question the first group for news, fear had shut them up tight. They’d not been at St. Peter’s Field, they said, and he knew they were lying, looking over their shoulders with wary eyes. Something had happened, and maybe these were the rabbits who’d run at the first sight of the uniformed foxes.
Fools, they were, the lords, and the soldiers serving them. People were starving. The war had wreaked havoc abroad, and the peace was doing so here.
At the last coaching inn, he’d hurried the women through their privy stop, picked up two new hampers of food, and heard from the innkeeper the rumor of a great bloody riot, a trampling to death of men, and women too. A bloody power play that set him fuming, and worrying more.
He was dead in his saddle, and tried to hide it, else he’d shame himself in front of Kincaid, who sat erect, alert, determination written upon his face.
And just what that bit with the tartan had been about, Bink would like to know. Kincaid didn’t seem a man to go weak about a girl’s wedding—a spy wouldn’t be sentimental, but he’d offer lies aplenty. Kincaid hadn’t convinced Bink he was a Scot neither, no matter how he curled his words.
Ah, but if he were, that might explain the plaid. Weren’t the Scots, like the Irish, a hard-nosed bunch who, with enough whisky flowing, would drop to a sniffle at the sound of a ballad?
The two Scotsmen they’d acquired held their part well. Greencastle was mere hours away. They’d rest there, consult with Hackwell or his lady if either still remained, and assess the security of the estate, which was still his to manage. Since leaving Gretna, they’d traveled with all haste. No inn stops of any length.
They’d left the high dales and come into a stretch of tall beech hedges, the farmland beyond thick with corn. The harvest would be soon, if these fools didn’t burn down the country.
He was glad he’d shared the express from Hackwell with Paulette. When he’d told her of the danger on the roads, his bride hadn’t been cowed. The courage that flashed in her eyes, well, if Mabel hadn’t been in the antechamber, if the team hadn’t already been hitched, he’d have taken her again.
He sighed. He was a beast after all, bothering her all night and then throwing her into a bouncing coach for days. Surely the girl was sore. Though when he thought of it, she’d not complained about the pain from his great manly shaft in her.
He’d fixed her knife’s sheath to her forearm and tucked a spare knife into the seat next to her. He would have given her a pistol if she’d known how to load it. That ignorance, he’d remedy later.
The daughter of spies, she’d said. Well, he couldn’t teach her the spy’s knack of lying, but he wouldn’t deny her the basics of a soldier’s knowledge.
As soon as he felt assured she would not use the pistol on him.
