By Love Unveiled Page 7

  Her aunt’s warnings sprang into her mind, of gypsy women seduced and abandoned by lesser nobles than the earl. And Marianne was a lady, who should know better than to let a man seduce her.

  That thought acted upon her like a bracing blast of cold air. She balled up her fists and struck his chest, surprising him as he was about to lower his head to hers again.

  “Would you take an unwilling maiden?” she demanded.

  The passion in his eyes died as quickly as it had been born. “ ’Tis no unwilling maiden who trembles in my arms.”

  Though her body still throbbed with the feelings he’d roused in her, she would never let him know it. “I met your price. And now you demand another?”

  Her matter-of-fact tone forced a scowl to his face, but at least he released her. “You talk like a fishwife discussing her wares, but that kiss was more than payment. An honest woman would admit it.”

  “And an honorable man would acknowledge that the bargain was met and would torment me no more with his whims.”

  He raked her body with a thorough glance, and wherever his gaze lighted, her skin heated. His eyes lifted at last to her lips, which she knew were swollen and red from his kiss.

  So as he watched, she deliberately wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

  He stiffened. Pivoting away, he snatched up the bags of plants and thrust them at her. “Take them and get off my land.”

  But when she reached for them, he closed his fingers around her wrists.

  “Run back to your aunt, to your poultices and patients,” he ground out. “But next time I find you lurking where you shouldn’t, I won’t take a mere kiss for payment. Next time the stakes will be far higher.”

  With that, he released her. Then he gave a mocking bow, whirled on his heels, and stalked from the garden, leaving her to stand there vainly attempting to still the frenzied beating of her heart.

  Chapter Six

  The jury, passing on the prisoner’s life,

  May in the sworn twelve have a thief or two

  Guiltier than him they try.

  —Shakespeare, Measure for Measure

  Two days had passed and still Garett couldn’t banish Mina from his mind. As he rode Cerberus briskly down the road bordering his fields, he cursed himself for his obsession.

  But he knew what caused it. When she’d shed her cloak, she hadn’t revealed her secrets, and her secrecy plagued him. One moment he believed her a perfect innocent, and the next he wondered if she worked for his uncle.

  And if she did?

  Then she was dangerous. She distracted him from his purpose, and that wasn’t acceptable, for he meant to revenge himself on his uncle no matter what the cost. Returning to Falkham hadn’t lessened that determination one whit.

  His vengeance had begun with his appearance before the House of Lords to regain his lands. Although the circumstances of his exile hadn’t been revealed, his sudden return had spawned rumors, which Garett and Will had fed with truths. Those rumors were even now growing to assurances, and it wouldn’t be long before society would draw the right conclusions about Tearle. As suspicion of the man’s duplicity spread, his uncle would soon find it difficult to show his face in public.

  Then Garett could begin tightening the noose. Already he was carefully laying the groundwork. And soon, very soon—

  The sound of men shouting pierced the afternoon quiet. Jerking Cerberus about, Garett spotted tendrils of smoke curling upward. Damn it all, his fields were afire! As a scream rent the air, he spurred his stallion into a run.

  Oh, God, not again. Ten years hadn’t dimmed his memory of that day on the road with his parents, of Will keeping him from running out of the woods where they’d gone to relieve themselves while the soldiers—

  He forced the past from his mind as he galloped up to the scorched patch of field from which smoke still rose. A curse escaped him when he saw the stranger lying motionless, his shirt and doublet drenched in blood.

  The two fellows shouting at each other worked for Garett. The taller one, a villager named Ashton hired to aid in the harvest, still gripped a bloody sword, which he brandished at the tenant of the fields in question.

  Garett dismounted. “Stop this madness!”

  Ashton jerked about, his sword at the ready, but he blanched and dropped his weapon when he recognized his master. “Milord, I didn’t realize—”

  “Tell me what happened,” Garett demanded, keeping a wary eye on both men.

  “This villain”—Ashton gestured to the man lying prone—“tried to set fire to the fields. And he would have succeeded, too, if I’d not stabbed him before he could do his dirty work.”

  Garett’s tenant shook an angry fist at Ashton. “You only stabbed him after I showed up to knock the torch from his hand and out of harm’s way. He weren’t armed. If not for y’r foolishness, I’d have taken him prisoner, and his lordship could’ve questioned him. ’Twould be better to know who sent the bastard to burn us out than to have a nameless dead man to bury.”

  Garett surveyed the scene. The torch had rolled into a patch of green grass and had clearly burned only a few moments before sputtering out.

  He then searched the prone figure of the dead man. “There’s no weapon.”

  “How was I to know that?” Ashton said. “I did what any soldier would do.”

  That comment gave Garett pause. “When you came in search of work, you said you were a farmer. Now you say you are a soldier. Which is it?”

  Ashton paled. “I merely meant, milord, that I sought to defend myself as any soldier would.”

  “So you’ve never been a soldier.”

  “Nay.”

  Garett’s gaze flew to the bloodied sword in the man’s hand and then to the man on the ground. “You’re dismissed.”

  Ashton gaped at Garett. “But milord, why?”

  “I don’t countenance liars,” Garett remarked. “Farmers don’t carry swords, and what need have you to hide that you were once a soldier?”

  For a moment Ashton’s expression changed to that of a man who’d been cornered, as if someone had ripped a mask from his face. “I wasn’t certain if I should say. Soldiers don’t make good farmers. But if you’ll keep me on, you might find it an asset to have a soldier on your side.”

  Garett smiled coldly. “I might indeed. But lying soldiers I have no use for.”

  “Your lordship would find me loyal—”

  “To whom?” Garett asked grimly. “No, ’tis best for us both if you left my employ, before your ‘loyalty’ jeopardizes me and mine and forces me to act.”

  The warning in that statement made Ashton flush, but he acknowledged Garett’s dismissal with a tight nod, then whirled off toward Lydgate.

  The tenant farmer stared after Ashton with contempt. “Mark my words, m’lord. That one’s a true villain despite his deft talk. You won’t regret the loss of him.”

  “The true villain was the man who sent him, and that man will pay as soon as I can prove his treachery.”

  A low groan came from the man on the ground. Ah, so he wasn’t dead, after all. As Garett knelt beside him, the man’s eyes fluttered open.

  “ ’Tis of no use,” he murmured, “no use… no use.”

  Garett lifted the man’s head. “What is of no use?” he demanded, but the man’s eyes had already closed again, and he’d lapsed back into unconsciousness.

  “Mayhap this one will live yet,” the tenant farmer remarked. “If you can wring a confession from him, you may trap his master.”

  Garett nodded as he surveyed the man’s body, this time with a keener eye. It was impossible to tell how bad the man’s wounds were beneath all the blood he’d shed. But if the man could be saved, he might reveal what he knew in exchange for a more lenient punishment.

  “I know just the one to keep him alive.” Garett rose. “Make him as comfortable as you can. I’ll fetch the gypsy healer.”

  The tenant farmer nodded his head. “Aye, Mina will bring him back if there�
�s any life still in him. She can’t bear to see anyone suffer, villain or no.”

  As Garett mounted his horse, he thought on the farmer’s words. Mina was indeed softhearted. She might not think well of his desire to keep a knave alive for the sake of hearing the man’s confession. Best not to tell her what he planned if he wished to gain her help.

  He rode in a frenzy back to Falkham House and beyond it into the forest. That day in the garden, he’d followed her at a distance, determined to know where she spent her nights. Now he headed there with grim purpose. She would need convincing to go with him, but her soft heart would win out in the end.

  As he reached the clearing where the gypsy wagon lay, he could see no one. Their fire had a few glowing embers, but the pot dangling from a curved iron stake above it was empty. He dismounted, intending to look around. Then he heard voices raised in argument nearby. Rounding the wagon, he found Will and Tamara squared off like a bear and a dog in a bearbaiting.

  “For a gypsy wench, you have mighty high ideas!” Will shouted.

  Tamara’s lips were reddened and her hair mussed. “And for a gentleman’s servant, you have the manners of a thief! Don’t you have duties elsewhere? I don’t want you here.”

  “Apparently,” Garett interjected, startling the two combatants, “Will found it more interesting attending to you than attending to his duties. Normally I wouldn’t interrupt such an edifying conversation, but I have need of both of you.”

  Tamara’s instant defensive stance didn’t hide the quick flush that crossed her face. “Have you come to join your lackey in attacking me, milord?”

  “Attacking! Why, you’re a fine one to—” Will muttered.

  “I don’t attack defenseless women,” Garett answered impatiently. “At the moment I have greater concerns. Where’s Mina? I have need of her services.”

  Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you do, milord, but she won’t lend them to you.”

  “Listen here, woman,” he said in a low voice. “A man lies dying not two miles from here. Your niece might save him. I don’t have time to waste in overcoming your objections, so either tell me where she is or I’ll take you off to the constable.”

  Tamara glared at him. “Well, then, be quick about it, for I shan’t tell you a blessed—”

  “I’m here!” a voice rang out from the woods. “No need to threaten her, my lord. I’ll do as you wish.”

  Garett turned to find Mina walking into the clearing with her usual calm assurance. Twigs and dry leaves clung to her skirts, and her dark golden hair lay wind-tossed about her shoulders. Cradled in her arms were two bundles of dry branches, as if she were some goddess of autumn.

  No, as if the god of autumn, whoever he might be, had just tumbled her in the crisp leaves. That wayward thought sent such a powerful surge of desire through Garett that it rocked him. Even Marianne’s quick frown couldn’t squelch that burst of wanting.

  “What do you want with us?” she demanded.

  He forced himself to return to the serious matters at hand. “There’s been an accident. I require your services as a healer.”

  Will came up beside Tamara to lay a protective arm about her shoulder.

  She shrugged him off. “It seems to me, milord, that you attract ‘accidents.’ I’m not certain it’s safe for my niece to be in your company.”

  Mina stared Garett down, her mutinous expression mirroring her aunt’s.

  “I’m inclined to agree with you,” Garett said to Tamara, “but that doesn’t change anything.” His eyes didn’t move from Mina’s face. “Feel free to accompany your niece, but I still need her to come with me.”

  Tamara stepped forward, but Will grabbed her arm, and when she tried to wrench free, he caught her more firmly about the waist.

  Mina threw down the branches. “If you’ll call your dog off,” she snapped, “I’ll consider doing as you ask.”

  Garett nodded to Will, who released Tamara.

  “Come, then,” Garett told Mina. He walked toward his horse, but when Mina didn’t follow, he pivoted to fix her with a hard stare.

  She wasn’t so easily intimidated. “Is this a command or a request, my lord?”

  “Which will make you come freely?” he asked, a trifle impatiently.

  Her eyes locked with his, a strangely endearing fierceness in their depths. “A request.” She clearly didn’t intend to move until they settled the point.

  “Madam, would you come with me now while the man still breathes?” When she hesitated, he added, more tersely, “Please?”

  She gave a regal nod. “I’ll fetch my medicines.” Then she pivoted and walked gracefully to the wagon.

  The moment Mina was inside, Tamara strode up to Garett with eyes flashing. “If you seek to seduce her this way, you toy with the wrong maiden.”

  “Don’t be absurd, woman. What need have I to seduce a gypsy?”

  Tamara lifted an eyebrow. “Mayhap I’ve used the wrong word. Mayhap you have something other than seduction in mind.”

  “Damn it, woman, I don’t—”

  “We gypsies are known for our soothsaying,” she broke in. “Shall I tell you your future?” When he frowned, she added, “If you should force your will on my niece, I can do little to stop you, but be warned. That girl is pure sweetness—her innocence is a balm to those bitter at heart such as you. If you’re not careful, you’ll begin to crave that balm. And when you come to that pass, be sure you have her heart well in hand, or ’tis you will suffer for it, not she.”

  “Don’t worry,” he bit out. “Your niece is comely, I’ll warrant you, but I’ve never forced a woman. Nor do I intend to begin doing so now.”

  She scrutinized him, and when he didn’t turn away from her stare, she relaxed. “Then we’ll deal well together, for she’ll never go willingly to your bed.”

  He stifled a smile. Apparently she didn’t know about her niece’s foray into his garden… and his arms. Mina might have her pride and her strange, noble-bred pruderies, but she’d been wild, sweet passion in his embrace.

  And she’d be so again. He’d make sure of that.

  * * *

  Hours later, Marianne and the earl rode toward the gypsy wagon as the moon’s silvery light trickled through the trees. Numb from exhaustion, she shifted in Garett’s uncomfortable saddle, too tired to worry that half her body rested against his. Her every muscle ached, and she longed for the relief of her pallet, hard though it was.

  Never had she worked so fiercely to save one patient. But then, never had she seen so terrible a wound. When she and the earl had arrived at the clearing where the man had lain, she’d nearly despaired. Belly wounds were the worst. She’d feared he would die, even though his scars had marked him as an old soldier accustomed to wounds.

  The man had been blessedly unconscious, but his tenacious heart had clung to life. Only his faint pulse had kept her from giving him up for dead. Then she’d had little time to wonder about the scorched ground or to question why anyone would plunge a sword into a laborer’s belly. Instead, she’d gone right to work.

  Under her direction, Garett and a tenant farmer had moved the man into a carriage William had fetched from the manor. Then Marianne had sat with him through the slow, tortuous route over the rutted road to Falkham House. Another hour had been spent moving him into a chamber, which had proved, ironically enough, to be her old bedroom. Then she’d called for water to be boiled, herbs to be mixed and steeped, and linen bandages to be prepared.

  Bathing the man had taken most of her will, for his wounds had sickened her. Yet she couldn’t have given up when he’d fought so hard to live. Determined that his fight wouldn’t come to naught, she’d stayed beside him, bathing his wounds, forcing broth and medicinal concoctions between his feverish lips, and trying to stanch his bleeding. When at last Garett had taken her from the chamber, ordering her to return to the wagon for some much-needed sleep, she’d argued with him. In the end, of course, he’d prevailed.

  Now she was glad
he’d insisted. Her body felt as if someone had beaten it with a sack of potatoes. Her eyes were scratchy, and her lids slid down of their own volition, lulled by the rocking gait of the horse.

  Garett settled her more closely against him. His warmth was too enticing to resist. Even when his arm tightened about her waist and he rested his chin against her head, she couldn’t summon up the energy to fight him.

  “If I didn’t do so earlier, I must thank you for what you’ve done for me this day,” his husky voice murmured.

  “ ’Twas not done for you but for that poor, wretched man. I’m not even certain he’ll live.”

  “You nearly killed yourself tending his wounds. ’Twas more than he deserved.”

  She bristled. “He may not have great estates and fine friends in London, but he enjoys the starling’s song and the smells of autumn as much as you. So he deserves to live as much as you.”

  Garett stiffened. “You misunderstand me. I don’t begrudge any man, poor or rich, the right to live. As a soldier, I’ve taken it away from too many not to realize how precious it is. Besides, there are villains among the rich and saints among the poor; a man’s worth shouldn’t be measured by the coin in his purse. But no one can know the true state of another man’s soul, nor the true extent of his capacity for villainy.”

  True. Oh, what was she to think of this strange earl? He voiced the same sentiments as Father, and he had worked beside her to save a man of no consequence. It didn’t fit the image of hardened killer she’d formed of him when she’d first heard of his arrival.

  And his concern for her puzzled her exceedingly. Often throughout the day he’d demanded she take a short rest, and his manner had often been so gentle with her, so kind… .

  She sighed. Much as she hated to admit it, she sometimes even found him appealing. Her body certainly did. Even now, in her exhaustion, it thrummed with an awareness of his. His sinewy arm rested across her belly, his hand gripping the side of her waist. He and she seemed to glide through the forest on a dream, the moonlight changing the trees into fairy creatures guarding their way.