A Wish For Nicholas. Jackie Manning

he pulled his mouth from hers, she blinked back into consciousness. “How dare you—” Becky recovered quickly. She drew back, wanting to slap that grin from his face, but her hands were full of the gathers at her bodice. Repressed anger coursed through her at the pompous audacity of the man and her own blatant reaction to him.

      She kicked open the barn door. “Out!” she screamed. “Get off my property and don’t ever let me see you again!”

      He threw back his head and laughed. “Very well, little butterfly, I’ll go. But I’ll take the thought of your sweet kiss with me, its memory warming my heart.”

      “Out! Out! Out!”

      He bowed with a flourish, then walked into the sunlit yard, his rich laughter filling the air.

      Becky clutched her dress to her. Pox and calamity! How would she explain to Molly that she had let her son worm himself out of the first honest position that was ever offered to him?

      Besides, if Twaddle didn’t work off the money Molly owed, how would the poor woman pay her rents?

      She held her fingertips to her lips, the warm feel of his mouth still upon hers, and she felt herself blush.

      Ben Twaddle was another scourge on Thornwood Hall, and she’d had more than enough of scoundrels. There was no way she’d hire that blackguard. A man like that was dangerous.

      Now, if only to find a way to explain it to Molly.

      

      Nick was still smiling when he brought the pail of water from the river to his horse, staked in the secluded glen nearby. Becky Forester was nothing like the wizened old woman he had imagined. Decidedly beautiful, with those flashing violet eyes and heavy mane of shining ebony hair.

      He wondered why she hadn’t married again. Surely the lively widow had given up trying to squeeze a profit from the overgrown, weevil-ridden rubble known as Thornwood Hall. The king had said the estate hadn’t made a profit in years, and the Widow Forester had paid little in taxes for want of a good harvest.

      Nick rubbed his scraggly beard. Odd. The hay in the wagon where he had bedded down was rich and fresh. The orchards, away from the path, hung heavy with green fruit. The cows in the back pasture had full udders waiting for the milkmaids. Yet the roadside fields lay untended or bore nothing but stunted crops.

      Nick unwrapped the cheese that he had taken from the sack that hung from the saddle. Becky Forester didn’t expect him for another fortnight. Perhaps he should have accepted that job she had offered, or rather ordered him to take. His lips curved in a rakish grin at the memory. It might have provided just the opportunity to find the answers to his questions.

      He smiled again, and he was reminded that he had smiled more today than he had in a very long time.

       Chapter Two

      The pleasant aroma of freshly baked bread and blackberry tarts that Becky had brought did little to dispel the gloom that pervaded Molly Twaddle’s croft. The old woman sat in front of the fire, and her frail shoulders, wrapped with a thick woolen shawl, shook with muffled sobs.

      “Molly, please try to understand…” Becky’s voice faded, her hands twisting in despair as she paced a tight circle in front of the hearth.

      Molly wiped her cheeks with the edge of her apron, then gazed at Becky with a look that said it was Becky who didn’t understand. “Maybe if ye’d ask Ben to work for ye again.” Her lips pressed into a brave line that caused her chin to quiver. “Give ’im a week t’ show ye what ’e ken do.” Her sweet face beamed with the eternal hope all mothers have for their wayward offspring.

      Becky groaned and twisted her hands again. She should have told Molly about yesterday’s encounter with Ben. But would she have believed that her wild son had removed almost all of Becky’s clothing with two swipes of his blade, then brazenly kissed her?

      Perhaps, but for the moment she preferred to keep the incident to herself. Her throat went dry as she remembered his commanding presence and the way she felt when he held her in his arms. Was it the man who filled her with such exasperation, or her foolish reaction to him?

      “We can’t force Ben to do what he doesn’t want to do.” Becky swallowed, gaining her composure. “It might be best if he went back to where he came from and never returned.”

      Molly’s squall of fresh tears brought a tug of guilt to Becky’s heart. Kneeling beside the old woman’s chair, Becky wiped a tear from Molly’s dumpling cheek. How she’d like to tell Molly that her son would probably rob her blind and bring trouble from the sheriff, just like his father. But she bit her words. Loyalty was the strength that bound families together.

      “I know how you feel,” Becky said instead. “But it’s—”

      “Nay, ye don’t know how I feel.” Molly’s chin quivered, but her voice held steady. “‘Cause ye don’t know ’bout Nelda.”

      Becky rose to her feet. “Nelda?”

      “Aye, Nelda.” Molly lifted her white-capped head, her blue eyes brimming with tears. “I was ashamed t’ tell ye before, but now I see I must. Ben wasn’t alone when ’e came home last week, Becky. Me son ’ad a lass with ’im. Nelda’s gonna ’ave ’is babe.” A watery smile brightened her face. “Me first gran’babe.”

      Becky’s understanding mixed with disgust. She thought of his kiss and rage fired within her. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The man was a rutting goat!

      Becky reined back her anger. “Where’s Nelda now?”

      “Next door with me sister, Clara. I ’ad no place fer ’em to sleep, an’…” She tugged on Becky’s skirt like a hungry tot begging for a crust. “Please, Becky. I ain’t askin’ ye this time. I’m beggin’ ye to give Ben a job.”

      A lump formed in the back of Becky’s throat.

      “If ye don’t, I’m afeared Ben’ll turn to thievin’. If the sheriff catches ’im, then what’ll Nelda and the babe do?”

      Becky glanced at the dear woman, and her heart melted. Besides, she had no choice. The crofters knew it was her duty to provide for them and their kin. “Very well, Molly. When Ben comes home, tell him to see Geer about a job weeding in the turnip fields.” At least she could keep the rogue a safe distance from the womenfolk. Besides, who knew what might happen to all of them when the new owner of Thornwood Hall arrived in two weeks? Everyone might be out on their arses.

      The old woman beamed. “You’re a saint, Mistress Becky. A blessed saint for not forgettin’ yer promise to yer mum an’ da. How proud they would’ve been to see ’ow ye take care of us.”

      The mention of her parents brought the familiar tug of sadness to Becky. It had been almost a year since they were stricken by the plague, along with her older sister, Betty. “Of course I’ll take care of the crofters. You’re my family. I’ll never forget that I was a crofter’s daughter.”

      “Botherin’ with us, when ye ’ave yer ’eart full of yer own troubles.” Molly tucked back a gray strand under her white cap, her expression serious. “What ’ave ye figured to do when Sir Whatsis ’ighness comes t’ take over ’is property?”

      “It’s not his property, Molly. Sir Nicholas Sinclair’s been awarded my property. I don’t care what the king dictates. In my heart, Thornwood Hall will always belong to me, Peter, Baby Harry and Aphra.”

      “Aye, but yer brothers and sister will be grown one day. Ye should remarry and have yer own babes. Peter’s almost a man. Aphra will be leavin’ the nest ’fore long. Ye don’t want t’ end up like me in yer old age.”

      Becky chuckled. How she loved this dear soul, who had been like a second