A Wish For Nicholas. Jackie Manning

like him to show conceit with a woman. She doubtless thought him some impossible rogue. It was dismay, not attraction, that had brightened her cheeks so becomingly.

      Ducks quacked as they swam past, diving for their dinner amid the last lull before twilight. Nick’s thoughts returned to his task at hand. “You’re growing fat on this rich grass, Rex.” He smiled as he swept the currycomb along the animal’s back.

      For a moment, Nick sensed that he wasn’t alone. Rex lifted his head, ears twitching, as though sensing something, too. Nick slipped the curry rack in the saddlebags and pulled out his pistol from the saddle holster.

      “Stand and deliver,” came a shout from behind.

      Nick dropped the pistol in the holster and lifted his hands above his head. A man stood a few yards away, dressed in the familiar velvet breeches and frilly shirt that Nick had been wearing before he exchanged them with the ones he found beside the river this morning. Nick guessed the robber was Ben Twaddle.

      Ben Twaddle’s eyes widened in surprise as he appraised Nick’s clothing, obviously confirming the same conclusion.

      “Yer the one who took me clothes?”

      Nick lifted a brow. “Aye, and you’d never come by a better deal, Twaddle.”

      “‘ow’d ye know me name?”

      Nick watched Ben’s right hand shake as he waved the pistol. He would guess that Ben was new to the occupation of thievery. “What do you want from me? Your clothes back?” He couldn’t quite hide a smile.

      Ben frowned in bewilderment. “Why’d you do it? Yer’ a…a gentleman, by the look o’ yer clothes.”

      “Ben, my arms are getting tired. Put that damn thing down or use it.”

      Ben blinked, then lowered the weapon. “I want yer horse.”

      “I’ve given you my clothes, do you think I’ll just hand over my horse, as well?” Nick sat down by the tree and glanced up.

      “I’m taking yer horse, so it don’t matter what ye think.” Ben kept his gaze on him. Obviously mistaking that Nick wouldn’t mind, Ben took several steps toward Rex.

      “You could hang for stealing a man’s horse,” Nick warned.

      “I’ll be gone before they find me. Besides, who’ll believe a rogue like you, dressed as y’are?” Ben narrowed his small pig eyes. “How’d ye get a ’orse like this? Steal ’im?” The idea brought a light to his eyes. “Aye, I’d wager ye stole this ’orse and clothing from a wealthy man. Then ye tossed ’is clothes to me so I’d be caught for the act.” Ben glanced at the horse again, as though he were reconsidering taking the animal.

      “You’re a sharp lad,” Nick said, trying not to grin. “You’re much too smart for me.” He shook his head. “If you steal this horse, you’ll be caught before you ride past Ferry’s Crossroads.”

      “Then ye did steal ’im?”

      “I’ll forget you asked me, lad.” Nick lifted a brow while he pretended to study the matter. After a considerable pause, he spoke. “Let me make you a deal, Ben Twaddle.”

      The young man looked surprised. “Tell me ’ow ye know me?”

      “I know many things about you, lad. Many things.” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I know about Nelda and the babe. About your poor old mother, Molly.”

      Ben’s long, thin face paled. “‘ow’d ye know ’bout them?”

      “I know everything.”

      Ben looked as though he’d seen a ghost. “Everythin’?”

      Nick nodded. “I know your soul’s going to hell, lad.”

      Ben’s eyes bulged. He ran a finger around his velvet collar.

      “I’ve been sent as a messenger from above.” Nick rolled his eyes heavenward. “And I’ve a message for you, lad. A last chance to save your soul.”

      Ben’s black eyebrows knotted, his hands trembled. “A message, sire?”

      Nick forced the amusement from his face. “Make it up to yer poor mum. Take her to church on the Sabbath and spend the day with her. Stay away from Lily at the Seven Swans. Spend time with Nelda, and help with the chores.” He narrowed his eyes and grabbed Ben by the collar. “Because if you don’t—”

      Ben’s Adam’s apple protruded in his bony throat as Nick’s fingers clenched tighter. “I’ll come after you. I’m faster than the west wind. You can’t hide from me.”

      Ben’s white face froze with terror.

      “Disobey me and I’ll snatch you up, and you’ll never be heard of again.”

      Ben’s arms and legs shook at his sides. Nick lifted him up off the ground and gave him a shake. “All that’ll be left of your miserable body will be the low howl in the pines when I’m through with you. Do you understand, Ben Twaddle?”

      Ben bobbed like a duck. “Aye, sire. I—I promise, sire.”

      Nick released him. The lad stumbled to his feet.

      “Go home to your mum, and beg her forgiveness.” Nick’s voice was stern. “Off with you, now.” He strode to his horse as the scurried footfalls of Ben’s huge feet sped down the path.

      Damned superstitious lot. Nick couldn’t keep from laughing as he watched the sight of Ben Twaddle running across the cornfields toward the crofters’ shacks.

      He wondered what Becky would think when she heard of Ben Twaddle’s sudden reformation. He smiled again. Aye, she wouldn’t be fooled. Suspicious, perhaps, but he didn’t think the lovely lady believed in miracles, if he was any judge of women.

       Chapter Three

      The following morning was hot, with no promise of a breeze to cool the coming swelter. Nick stood up from hoeing and wiped the beads of moisture from his forehead. Across the meadow, he noticed Becky on the sorrel mare, galloping along the hedgerow.

      He’d hoped she’d ride out to check if he’d shown up for work. He’d enjoy seeing her again, if only to observe if the dark shards in her lovely eyes were as violet as he remembered.

      Damn, what the hell did he care what color her eyes were! He’d best find out as much information as he could from Geer before Becky discovered that he wasn’t Ben Twaddle.

      But he’d like to see her again, because she was nothing like any other women he’d known. His fascination was only business, he decided, pushing back a rush of unwelcome arousal. She knew the answers to the questions about the estate that he needed to know.

      Nick watched as Becky and the mare vaulted gracefully over a stone fence. She controlled the sorrel with the same mastery of skill that she had shown yesterday with the bull.

      After a few moments, Nick grasped the hoe and was bending over the next row of turnips when a voice called out to him.

      “‘ey, Twaddle.” Geer came up behind him with a water pail and tin cup. The old man squinted at the long, neat row of dark green leaves Nick had finished hoeing. “This ain’t a race, lad.” His wrinkled face creased when he smiled. “Save some of that muscle for this afternoon’s toil.”

      Nick took the offered drink of water and drained the cup. Geer’s smile faded. “Noticed yer limp. ’ow’d ye hurt the leg?”

      “Nothing serious.” Nick hoped to deter the man’s curiosity. If Geer were to see the red zigzag pattern of scars along the length of his thigh and calf, he would pry all the more.

      “Put yer hoe down, Twaddle. I’ve