A Traitor's Touch. Helen Dickson

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      Was it only yesterday that Jeremy had turned up at the house? It seemed an eternity since she had left. It had needed only a few hours to make her first an outraged young woman because of the injustice meted out to her by Jeremy and now a fugitive who would soon be hunted down by that same man when he discovered the truth about his uncle’s will. She prayed he wouldn’t think of looking for her north of the border. But when she thought of Jeremy, who had treated her so cruelly, no remorse troubled her mind.

      With an effort of will, she drove out these gloomy thoughts. She was young and strong and determined with all the force that was within her to overcome the malign fate which dogged her and to do that, it was necessary to remain in possession of her wits for the long trek to Scotland. Tethering her horse to a post, she glanced about her warily, feeling terribly conspicuous in her masculine garb.

      There was a bustle in the street as the town was coming to life. An assortment of rustic-looking folk went about their business. A loud curse made her jump swiftly aside and she waited as a couple of huge, plodding horses, their foam-flecked sides heaving, drew a large wagon piled high with casks. Intent on staying out of their path she heedlessly stepped backwards into a loitering group of youths. Their presence was first noted when a voice called loudly, ‘Young fool! Look where you’re going.’

      Spinning round in alarm, she stared at the youths, the eldest of whom was about sixteen. He stepped in front of her, his feet spread, his thumbs hooked in his belt and a tattered hat askew on an untidy thatch of brown hair. He towered over her, looking her over suspiciously.

      ‘Can’t say I know you. What you doing here?’ he demanded boldly.

      ‘I—I’m just passing through,’ she nervously stammered, lowering her voice to fit in with her masculine attire. Uncertain and dismayed at this unexpected confrontation, she glanced uneasily towards the others who were circling around her. For the most part, they seemed only to be seeking some diversion from boredom. She could not be too careful and sought to make them more cautious.

      ‘I’m supposed to be meeting someone—my uncle,’ she lied in an attempt to make them back away. ‘He—he should be here...’ Her voice trailed off and she looked around expectantly.

      One of the youths laughed loudly and gave Henrietta’s shoulder a shove. ‘Hope he’ll come to your rescue, do you?’

      Hands seeming to come from every direction reached out to shove and push. The next instant her hat was snatched from her head, baring a mop of shaggily cropped hair. Henrietta threw her hands over her head, at the same time opening her mouth to vent her outrage. For some reason she thought better of it and clamped her jaw shut, angrily making a grab for her hat, only to see it passed from one to the other. Incensed, she stood there with her fists clenched, refusing to show her fear. ‘Give me back my hat and I’ll be on my way.’

      Immediately one of the youths shoved her shoulder and she found herself stumbling backwards, but not before she’d made another grab for her hat as it went sailing through the air. Jamming it on to her head, she glowered at them, ready to do battle if they attempted to take it again. Her jaw slackened as she stared amazed by the sight of the three youths suddenly backing off and pressing themselves against the wall.

      A tall figure in a swirling black cloak strode into their midst. Large and powerful, a cocked hat set jauntily sideways on his head, she recognised him as the man Simon she had met on the heath the previous night. Henrietta was more unsettled than she was prepared to show by his sudden appearance. Now, in broad daylight, he bore a striking resemblance to the pirates whose exploits she had relished when safely between the covers of a book. This man had no black patch over his eye or gold rings in his ears, but these details apart, he seemed the living image of a gentleman of fortune.

      ‘On your way, the lot of you,’ he barked, brushing them aside as best he could. ‘I’m sure there must be chores to occupy you other than abusing others.’

      He watched the scrambling departure of the youths before turning to the individual who found herself meeting eyes of deep blue set in a hard and unsmiling face.

      ‘I thought it was you,’ Simon remarked sharply. ‘You appear to be in a spot of bother.’

      Henrietta’s heart lurched in her breast. She was torn between resentment because he’d refused to let her go with him to Scotland and relief that he’d rescued her from possible harm at the hands of the three youths.

      Observing the lad’s expression of concern, Simon said, ‘You need to watch lads like that. They clamour around and then they’ll suddenly disappear—along with your purse. I don’t doubt that half of them will end up dangling on the end of a hangman’s rope one day. I was about to get myself a bite to eat. Would you care to join me?’

      Having recovered her composure, Henrietta raised cool, bright eyes holding more than a measure of distrust to his. She hadn’t forgiven him for abandoning her on the heath. Having witnessed her humiliation at the hands of those louts, he was infuriatingly sublime in his amusement. If her situation weren’t so dire, she’d cheerfully tell him to go to the devil.

      ‘You don’t have to do that,’ she replied sullenly. ‘My mother told me never to talk to strangers.’

      ‘Your mother was right, but you were happy to talk to me last night when you thought I could be of use.’

      ‘That was last night. Things look different in daylight. I don’t want any handouts.’

      ‘I wasn’t offering to pay for your breakfast. I merely thought you might like some company, but it seems I was mistaken. The least you could do is thank me for getting you out of a scrape.’

      ‘I didn’t ask you to,’ she retorted ungraciously. ‘I can take care of myself.’

      ‘Is that so?’ His eyes did a quick sweep of the small, slight form in ill-fitting garb before him, noting the pathetically shorn hair of an indeterminate colour and badly stained breeches. There was an air and manner about him that held his attention. ‘By the looks of you someone needs to take you in hand.’ His jaw set squarely, he turned away. The lad was proving to be a headache. And yet...those snapping green eyes...the soft mouth and curve to the cheek...

      Simon! an inner voice commanded. Enough! It will be your downfall if you pursue this train of thought.

      It was indeed enough—but even so he found himself turning back. He glanced at her horse. ‘Get your horse and come with me if you want some breakfast—before those young ruffians come back and finish what they started.’

      Turning on his heel and leading his horse, he headed for the back of the nearest inn. Racked with indecision, Henrietta glared at his retreating broad back, the hollow ache in her middle reminding her how hungry she was. Seeing her three abusers loitering on the street corner still eyeing her with malicious intent, though it chafed her to do so she grabbed her horse’s bridle and hurried after him.

      Leaving her mount to be fed and watered in the tavern’s stable, she was almost treading on his heels when he crossed the threshold into the large and welcoming common room. It was adorned with gleaming copper and brass with a number of tables disposed around the room. A good fire burned in the hearth and a number of serving girls tripped about bearing loaded trays.

      There was a stir of interest among them when their eyes lighted on Simon’s handsome form and their eyes boldly appraised him. His expression softened as his gaze swept over one of them—a pretty young girl, her loosely laced bodice barely containing СКАЧАТЬ