June Francis Read online

  Anna’s chest was wheezing and she was fighting for breath by the time she got Marjorie outside. Then she herself collapsed on to the ground beside her. It seemed an age before Anna felt able to make the effort to pull Marjorie farther away from the house on to the grass. There she sank to the ground again and this time it seemed longer still before she had the strength to get to her knees. To her dismay, Marjorie had ceased breathing despite all Anna’s efforts.

  She staggered to her feet and gazed at her house; she could only stand by helplessly as the flames consumed her home. Her heart felt like a stone inside her. She had loved this house, but with her husband and son gone from this earth, it had been a lasting reminder of the sadness of their deaths. She wept afresh for them and the happy times spent inside its walls, as well as for Marjorie.

  ‘Why has fate dealt me such agonising blows?’ cried Anna to the skies. ‘Are you punishing me, God?’

  No heavenly voice answered her and, frustratingly, the storm clouds had passed, spilling hardly any rain. But where was Will and his accomplice? She could not place any faith in his caring about her safety, but what about his wife? She doubted he would accept that she had tried to save Marjorie. Instead, she was convinced he would use that timely flash of lightning and his wife’s death to strengthen his accusation that Anna was a witch. A chill of fear ran through her. She had to leave here now, in case the two men returned, and ride for her old home at Rowan Manor. Owain and his wife, Kate, had reared her from babyhood and she could trust them to help her.

  Fortunately the fire had not spread to the outbuildings and she went in search of her saddle and bridle. On finding them, she paused only long enough to drink some water and pack her belongings in a pair of saddlebags, before hurrying to where her horse was cropping the grass in a nearby field. Nervously, she kept looking over her shoulder. No doubt Will would realise she had survived the flames when he saw that her horse was missing. It was possible that he might even guess her destination and follow her. But hopefully, she would have enough of a head start to manage to escape his clutches. Rowan Manor lay several leagues away; although she felt weary with fear and grief, she prayed that God would have mercy and enable her to reach Owain and Kate before nightfall.

  Anna darted a look behind her and thought she caught sight of a lone rider half a mile or so to her rear. Terror caused her heart to jerk within her breast. She could not see him clearly, but was convinced it was Will and wondered what had happened to his accomplice. She had ridden some five leagues along byways and tracks through the Palatine of Chester and her whole body ached after her ordeal. But she was now within a couple of miles of Rowan Manor and urged her palfrey from a canter to a gallop. She was relieved that the sky had cleared and the ground was neither too wet nor too dry, only yielding slightly beneath her horse’s hooves. God willing, she would reach Rowan before Will caught up with her. She whispered encouragement in her horse’s ear and dared to risk another glance behind her.

  To her dismay, the rider was now close enough for her to recognise Will’s cadaverous features and tall, bony figure. She told herself that she must not let fear disable her, causing her to lose control of her horse. Ahead lay the crossroads that signalled the turning into the lane that led to Rowan. Once she was within the bounds of Owain’s lands, then most likely there would be men in the fields and she would be safe.

  As her horse took the turning, Anna saw too late the sycamore split in half, so that part had fallen and blocked the path. Her horse reared and, despite all her effort to remain in the saddle, she was thrown to the ground. Luckily she landed on grass, but the breath was knocked out of her. The shock of the fall affected her vision so that colours appeared to be washed out of everything. Feeling half-blind, she gasped for breath, scared that her horse would lose its balance and crush her. She forced herself to make the attempt to claw her way out of the reach of its flailing hooves. Then, unexpectedly, she was seized by the back of her cloak and hoisted into the air. Deposited in a sprawling heap in front of a saddlebow, she was aware of the scent of sandalwood and male muskiness. She struggled frantically to gain control of her limbs and get a grip on the horse.

  ‘Hold tight,’ ordered an unfamiliar, steely voice.

  Relieved that it was not Will who had arrived on the scene first, Anna did her best to comply with the man’s order. Still suffering from the effects of her fall, obedience proved difficult; she could feel herself slipping from the beast. Simultaneously, she realised that her rescuer had managed to control her horse. Its front hooves were on the ground; despite a great deal of snorting and blowing from the animal, all this had been accomplished in a matter of moments. But before Anna could catch a proper look at the man, she completely lost her balance and toppled to the ground.

  This time she managed to land on her feet. Finally upright, on solid ground, her first thought was for the horse that had been hers since it was a foal. She loved her mare dearly and hastened to comfort her, stroking her nose and whispering soothing words into its flickering ear. So it came as a complete surprise to find herself being seized again from behind. This time she felt as if she was being strangled as she was yanked off her feet and placed face down across a very different horse. She was in no doubt about who dared to mishandle her in such a way.

  A hand pressed down on her head and Will snarled, ‘Keep your eyes away from me, witch’s daughter, or it will be the worse for you.’

  ‘By the Trinity, what do you think you’re doing?’ demanded Anna’s rescuer in a harsh voice. ‘Release her at once or you will taste steel!’

  She tried to get to get a glimpse of him, but that proved impossible with Will’s hand crushing her face into his horse’s neck. ‘Keep out of my affairs,’ said Will. ‘This one’s a witch and a murderess, just like her mother, and will burn for her latest foul deed.’

  ‘It’s not true,’ gasped Anna in a muffled voice.

  ‘Shut your mouth, madam!’ ordered Will, pressing down harder on her head.

  ‘Did you not hear me?’ thundered her rescuer. ‘Release her at once, I say.’

  ‘If you value your life, I suggest you keep out of this,’ warned Will. ‘I repeat, this woman is a witch and she is dangerous.’

  ‘If that were true, then you should have more sense than to treat her so disgracefully,’ said her rescuer, his tone deceptively soft. ‘I will not ask you again to release her.’

  ‘Who are you that I should obey such commands?’ sneered Will, reaching for the amulet about his neck. ‘This protects me. Now go before she bewitches you.’

  As soon as Anna felt Will remove his hand, she lifted her head so as to see how her rescuer would respond. He had manoeuvred his horse alongside Will’s mount and her first sight of him was of long muscular legs clad in black hose and leather boots, clamped against his horse’s flanks. Raising her eyes, she saw that he sat tall in the saddle. His shoulders were broad beneath a black woollen doublet that was open at the neck to reveal a white shirt and sunburnt throat. A scar snaked down his right cheek, lending a certain harshness to his features. Suddenly she became aware of chilling blue-grey eyes beneath hooded dark brows returning her gaze. Her heart performed a peculiar somersault; there was something familiar about this man. Yet she could not remember where she had seen him before.

  Even so she said, ‘Of your courtesy, sir, I beg you not to listen to him. None of what he says is true.’

  Her rescuer inclined his dark head. ‘From my experience it is a great mistake to leave women to the mercy of cruel bullies.’

  Will flushed with anger. ‘You should not have gazed upon her. Already, she has bewitched you. I tell you that she has bad blood in her. Not only is she a witch, but murdered her husband because she had a lover!’

  ‘You speak false,’ cried Anna indignantly, digging her gloved fingers into Will’s leg in an attempt to drag herself upright. Instantly he slapped her hand away.

  Within seconds her rescuer had seized Will’s wrist and had his knife at his throat.
‘I did warn you,’ he said in an icy tone.

  Will’s eyes glinted with fury. ‘You’ll rue this day, for daring to set your will against mine, stranger.’

  ‘You would be wiser thinking before you open your mouth. First, you threaten a so-called witch and then the man holding a knife to your throat. You will beg the lady’s pardon or I will slit you from ear to ear.’

  Her rescuer’s voice reminded Anna of iron encased in velvet and she shivered, despite herself.

  ‘If you—you think you c-can get away with m-my murder then you’re mistaken,’ stuttered Will. ‘There are those who know my errand and she will burn and so will you.’

  ‘I don’t know how you can live with your conscience, Will,’ cried Anna angrily. ‘And what about Marjorie? Where were you when my house was burning and she was in need of rescue? You lied to her, too, and so you are to blame for her death!’

  An unexpected sob broke from Will. ‘I did not intend for her to die. I thought she would have gone with the servants. Only they said…’ His face turned ugly again. ‘It is your fault, you witch!’

  Without hesitation the stranger slashed the ties that fastened Will’s cloak, causing him to squeal in terror. Hastily he stammered out an apology to Anna.

  ‘Louder,’ ordered his captor.

  Will swore, but the prick of the blade drawing blood had him yelling out the words.

  Anna did not feel sorry for him at all; she wanted to get down from his horse and be rid of him. She had done her best by him, but he had betrayed her. ‘Thank you, sir,’ she said to the stranger. ‘But I deem that will do for now.’

  ‘If that is your wish.’ Her rescuer replaced the dagger at his belt and loosened his grip on Will’s wrist. Immediately the villain attempted to push Anna to the ground, but the other man acted with speed, seizing her by the waist and dragging her on to his horse. Will cursed the pair of them and then digging his spurs into his stallion’s flanks, he rode off in the opposite direction to Rowan Manor.

  Weak with relief, Anna clung to the front of her rescuer’s doublet, conscious of the strength in the arm that held her. ‘I’m afraid that, by rescuing me, you’ve made an enemy, sir.’

  ‘I would have done the same for any woman in distress,’ he said coolly, disturbed by the response of a certain part of his anatomy to the close proximity of her soft curves and the scent of lavender that mingled with a strong smell of smoke. He told himself this would not do; he could not allow himself to be distracted from the task he had set himself. ‘What is your destination?’ he asked, slackening his grasp on her waist.

  ‘I am on my way to Rowan Manor, the home of my half-brother Owain ap Rowan. But let me introduce myself—I am Lady Anna Fenwick.’ She proffered him a hand gloved in dirty tan kid.

  He stared at her intently before shaking that small, firm hand. ‘I deem we are already acquainted, Lady Fenwick, although it is some time since we met. My name is Milburn. I will escort you to Rowan as that is also my destination.’

  Anna’s grimy brow knitted as she gazed into his weatherbeaten face. It had been some time since last she had visited Matt Milburn’s manor in Yorkshire. ‘My thanks to you. Your escort is much appreciated, as was your coming to my aid.’ He gave a brief nod of acceptance for her words of gratitude. She marvelled at his strong features and wondered about the scar on his face. She was almost tempted to touch it, but reminded herself that he was a married man with children. Such an act would be unseemly and, after Will’s accusation of her being an adulteress, her behaviour must be above reproach. Even so she could not resist saying, ‘That scar—’ She stopped abruptly for there was embarrassment and some deep sorrow in his face. ‘I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. If you could set me down, Master Milburn, I will ride my own mount.’

  Relieved to have temptation so swiftly removed, he helped her to the ground, watching Anna as she went over to her horse. She called over her shoulder, ‘When did you leave Yorkshire? It must have taken you several days to get here.’

  ‘I did not ride. I have a ship, the Hercules, anchored off West Kirby in the Dee estuary.’

  His words surprised her into turning and staring at him. ‘Now that I did not expect to hear. Have you had news of Jack after all this time or are you here to buy horses from Owain?’

  He smiled faintly. ‘You mistake me for my twin, Lady Fenwick. I am Jack Milburn.’ His eyes fastened on her luscious lips as they parted in astonishment. He took the opportunity to have a proper look at her for a few seconds. Beneath her light summer cloak, she wore a loose black gown made of quality linsey-woolsey cloth that did little to conceal her curves. Wisps of red-gold hair escaped her wimple to curl on a bloodied and grimy cheek. Had that swine attacked her? She appeared lost for words—but was that surprising considering the years he had been missing?

  He noticed the lute poking from a fold of material in a saddlebag and memories flooded back as he was reminded of the year his father had been murdered in Bruges. He remembered a mischievous-eyed girl, whose elfin features had beamed with delight when he had presented her with the Venetian crafted lute. She had seemed so alive, her red hair like a flame about her pretty little face. He had been fifteen at the time and, in any other circumstances, a future marriage might have been on his mind, only that year had proved to him that the life of a merchant venturer was extremely risky. Taking a wife would have to wait until he had made his fortune and the time was ripe to settle down in one place.

  Anna found her voice. ‘But—but you’ve been missing for years! We thought you were dead. We even had a requiem mass said for you.’

  ‘So I was informed by your half-brother Davy.’

  ‘Davy? What has your absence to do with him?’

  ‘It has naught to do with him,’ replied Jack, hastening to add, ‘It is solely that he was on business in Europe when I returned and he performed a commission for me. I’m surprised that you have not heard that I’d…come back from the dead.’

  She looked bemused. ‘It is a while since I have visited Rowan, but I agree that it is strange that Kate did not send word of your safe return. Maybe it was due to my closeting myself in the house after my son died, although my late husband’s nephew and his wife lived with me and they would have been there to take a message.’ A shadow crossed her face. ‘I wonder if Will destroyed it. Possibly it might have arrived when I sought spiritual consolation in a nearby convent.’

  So the man he had just scared off was her husband’s nephew, mused Jack, wondering why the man was so intent on convincing folk that Anna was a witch. But he must not involve himself in her affairs as he had enough on his mind without concerning himself about her. ‘I’d heard you lost your husband and son. I can understand how that must feel and extend my condolences,’ said Jack with a stiffness in his manner that was almost cold.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, debating whether he could really understand how painful was the loss of a dearly loved child and husband, for as far as she knew he had never wed. Unless…perhaps he thought that losing a parent was equal to the terrible wrenching grief that was the loss of one’s child. She took a deep steadying breath. ‘I am pleased to see you alive, Jack. What happened to you? That scar—’ She stopped abruptly. ‘There I go again. Obviously, the memory is painful. You have suffered, too.’ She felt tears well up in her eyes and hastily brushed them away.

  ‘Damn you,’ muttered Jack, turning his back to her.

  How he hated seeing a woman in tears. It put him too much in mind of his final parting from Monique and Philippe before he had left for England, knowing he would not see either of them for a month or more. He would have taken them both with him, but Monique had refused to cross the Channel. Some happening in her past had filled her with a fear of the sea and he could not shift her from her decision. If he had suspected that her husband was on their trail, then he would have insisted that she and Philippe accompany him.

  ‘I should not have asked. I beg your pardon for prying in your affairs,’ apologi
sed Anna in a low voice that roused Jack from his thoughts.

  ‘There’s no need for you to do so,’ he said tersely, keeping his back to her, determined not to allow the sight of her tear-stained face to weaken him. ‘Naturally you’re curious about what happened to me. Another time, perhaps, I will tell you.’

  He considered how strange it was that he had been able to recall Anna’s childish features so quickly. Yet, during his enslavement in Arabia, he’d had difficulty remembering Monique’s face. It was not that he had forgotten the colour of her hair and eyes or the shape of her nose and the feel of her lips. What he’d been unable to do was compose an actual image of her whole face. Yet his son’s face continued to haunt his dreams. Reason enough for him to not allow a sudden protective feeling and tug of attraction to the mature Anna to sway him from his chosen path.

  ‘I look forward to hearing your story,’ murmured Anna, gazing at his strong back before giving her attention to her horse once more. Suddenly she noticed that a girth strap hung loose. ‘Jack, if you please, I would have you look at this strap.’

  He walked over to her and took hold of the girth strap she proffered. He noticed the leather was not only partially torn, but also sawn through. ‘You believe this was done deliberately?’ he asked, raising his dark brows.

  ‘I am the only one who uses this saddle.’ Anna’s eyes were angry as she tapped a finger against the leather. ‘I am certain Will must have done this, to bring me down if I managed to ride for help. If I broke my neck, it would save his having to rile the villagers further into burning me. I deem that he believes by destroying me he will gain Fenwick Manor.’

  ‘That would make sense of his insistence on your being a witch and wanting rid of you,’ said Jack, reluctantly drawn into a discussion. ‘Yet why should he gain it on your death…unless there was a clause in your husband’s will?’