The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis

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      Jane was glad of that, for she had little coin to spare to pay Anna extra and for any other expenses Nicholas’s sojourn here in Witney might involve. She wondered how long he would stay now there was the worry of the attack on him to take into account. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she continued with the task of removing his doublet without causing him too much pain.

      Once rid of the garment she was able to see more clearly that his fine woollen shirt was more bloodstained than the doublet and that it was unravelling. Obviously the weapon’s blade had caught a thread and snapped it. Her heart was in her mouth as she attempted to separate the patch of shirt that was stuck to the wound, for she could feel the tension within him. She decided that it was best if she dampened the fabric and fortunately that did the trick. At last she managed to ease the fabric away to reveal the gash in his flesh into which bits of wool and dirt had been forced. By then he was breathing heavily and his face had changed colour. As for her, the inside of her cheek was raw from chewing on it.

      She whispered an apology as she removed the shirt. Now his chest was completely exposed, she could see the scars he had incurred from previous encounters with foes. She felt an unexpected urge not only to wrap her arms around him, but to scold him.

      ‘How many times have you come close to death?’ she muttered, straightening up with his shirt clenched in her hand. ‘I know of some of your adventures, but not that you had been injured so often.’

      ‘I survived and that is all that matters,’ he growled.

      ‘Hopefully you will survive this latest attack on you,’ she said tautly before hurrying over to a shelf and removing a bottle of wine from it.

      ‘Can I help, Mama?’ asked Elizabeth, hovering about her.

      ‘Fetch me some linen bindings from the chest and another clean rag,’ said Jane.

      The girl did so and received further orders concerning the supper this time. She went about her tasks as Jane gave Nicholas all her attention once more.

      ‘Do you have any brandy?’ he asked in a strained voice, watching her uncork the wine and pour some into a small bowl.

      ‘Aye, as it happens Rebecca’s father enjoys the finest French brandy. He brought a couple of bottles when he visited me the other week. Now keep still. I will fetch the brandy in a moment.’

      She tipped the cup carefully and watched the elderflower wine that she had made herself the other year wash over the wound just beneath his collarbone. She was aware of the mingling smells of sandalwood, blood, dried sweat and wine and that he gritted his teeth as she swabbed the wound with a clean rag.

      ‘I am sorry if I’m hurting you,’ she said hastily. Curling strands of her light brown hair that had escaped from beneath her cap brushed his chin as she lowered her head further.

      Nicholas breathed in the scent of camomile and guessed she washed her hair in water perfumed by the dried flower heads. His thoughts drifted back to his boyhood when he had visited his godparents. Sir Jasper had been a prosperous wine merchant with a house in Bristol and another in the countryside a few miles from the port. He remembered a meadow being covered in camomile daisies.

      ‘Do you see much of Anthony Mortimer?’ he asked.

      Jane moved away and considered her answer as she took a small jar from the stool nearby. ‘A fair amount. He is lonely. No doubt he misses the excitement of his old life of travel and meeting people. I am sure you can understand why that should be so, having travelled so much yourself?’

      ‘Not as much as him, I am certain,’ said Nicholas, frowning. ‘After all, he is much older than I and will surely find it more difficult to settle.’

      ‘Perhaps. When Rebecca’s at home, he does spend time in her company,’ replied Jane, ‘but not as much as he would like. Since her marriage to your brother, she likes to accompany him when he is summoned to court or the king gives him permission to perform for one of his lordly friends at their mansions, castles or palaces.’

      Jane began to smooth salve on his wound and Nicholas felt her breasts press against him. Despite the pain he was in, he was aware of a stirring in his loins and it surprised him. For months he had not been with a woman and had held in his mind the image of Jane as a Madonna: a man did not have sexual desire for such an icon of reverence and worship. It was definitely odd and he knew that he must distract them both from this sudden unexpected yearning of his body. Being a widow, she would know what it signified if she were to become aware of his arousal.

      He remembered his younger brother, Pip, wagering that he would never manage to live the celibate life required of priest. Nicholas had determined to prove him wrong. It appeared that his brother was right if the slightest brush of Jane’s breasts could create such a reaction in him. He imagined holding their firm roundness, pressing his lips against her soft skin.

      He must stop this! He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me about this spinning business of yours. Does Master Mortimer take a great interest in it at all?’

      ‘You seem very interested in him,’ said Jane, frowning.

      ‘My concern is for you. As I’ve already said, he’s not a young man and you have enough on your hands caring for the children and trying to support them and yourself without becoming too closely involved with a man soon to be in his dotage.’

      Her eyes narrowed. ‘What are you trying to say, Master Hurst?’

      ‘You’re no fool, Jane,’ he replied. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’

      ‘If it is marriage you refer to,’ she muttered, a rosy colour flooding her cheeks, ‘then I would remind you that it is but four months since my husband died and this year is a period of mourning for me. I am hardly going to encourage Mortimer in such circumstances.’

      He had forgotten temporarily about the mourning period, but he did not say so because all of a sudden he felt extremely odd. ‘Brandy!’ he exclaimed abruptly.

      She stared at him and saw that he had gone quite pale beneath his tan. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and hurried away.

      He closed his eyes, but despite doing so he could not shut out the scent of camomile that lingered in the air and again was reminded of his godparents and a spring when the tide was high. Sir Jasper had taken him to see the wave that swept in from the Bristol Channel as it fought against the river current. Despite all the wonders he had since seen on his travels, Nicholas had never forgotten the sight of that frightening wall of water advancing towards them and it had haunted his dreams. His godparents had had no children and the fortune Sir Jasper had amassed had come to Nicholas after the death of his godmother a year after her larger-than-life husband had died. At that time the urge to travel had been strong in him and he had seldom visited his properties. He had put an agent in the house in Bristol and a married couple in the one overlooking the estuary.

      Since Matilda’s birth, he had come to the decision that he needed to make a proper home for her and it seemed sensible to take possession of his property.

      There came the sound of a bottle being opened and liquor poured and then the swish of her black skirts as Jane returned. ‘Here you are, Master Hurst,’ she said, her voice sounding anxious.

      His heavy eyelids lifted and he stared at her. ‘Why can’t you call me Nicholas?’ he said fretfully, taking the goblet from her and downing the brandy in one gulp. ‘Tell СКАЧАТЬ