Embrace The Dawn. Jackie Summers

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      After he had left, Anne glanced about the tiny room. Modest, clean and tidy, it contrasted sharply with her first thought that the cottage had been abandoned. The plaster walls sparkled with whitewash. Fresh rushes had been strewn across the wide plank floor. The wood in the hearth had been laid in anticipation for their arrival, she noted, and now a fire crackled cheerfully in the stone hearth.

      This was the Black Fox’s hideout. But there was a decidedly feminine touch that piqued her curiosity: the delicate hand stitching of the muslin bed coverlet, the crisp lace that flounced above the window, the high beeswax polish on the plain wooden furniture, the dried bundles of herbs that hung from the rafters.

      Her glance fell to a vase of pink gillyflowers on the corner table. She remembered what the Black Fox had said to Jane Herrick when he robbed her of her brooch: Maybe one of my women might take a fancy to it.

      She sat bolt upright in bed, unsettled by the thought. What if he now considered her one of them!

      Her gaze fell to the dusty saddlebags leaning against a large trunk. Anne knelt down beside the bags and lifted the flap. Inside, the plump sack of gold coins lay on top of loose papers and maps. Her heart hammered with excitement. Tucked alongside the pouch glittered Dr. Herrick’s gold watch and Jane Herrick’s brooch. Filled with elation, she glanced nervously toward the door. She’d return their keepsakes to the doctor and his wife when she found her way to Rosemoor. She’d return the gold to the Herricks, as well. They’d see that the coin would go to the king’s cause. Besides, stealing it from that insolent rogue would help settle her account with him, she thought smugly.

      With a surge of satisfaction, Anne removed her leather jerkin and spread it on the floor. Carefully she emptied the coins from the pouch onto it, then folded the garment into a packet and hid it underneath the feather mattress. Before she pulled the blanket over the saddlebags, she thought to fill the slack pouch with something. Her eyes scanned the small room. Nothing. Then she remembered the pebbled walk outside the stoop.

      She opened the door a crack and peeked into the darkness. He must be on the other side of the cabin. With shaky hands, she gathered the damp stones in her apron, elation and fear fusing within her. Within minutes, she had filled the pouch with the stones, then sat back to wait for his return.

      A short time later, she heard his boot steps scrape at the door. Her heart raced as she lay back upon the pillows, feigning sleep. The door creaked open and she felt a deeper tug of excitement.

      She shifted her head and watched him through her thick lashes. He carried an armful of firewood and dropped it beside the hearth. After he stacked it, he moved to the shelf above the table. His back was to her, so she couldn’t see what he was doing. Within minutes, he turned and she saw him place a trencher piled with biscuits on the oaken table.

      He threw his leg over the seat of a chair, sat down and splashed a small portion of brandy in each of the empty tankards from the bottle. His mask hung loosely about his face by one ribbon, allowing him enough freedom to eat, yet concealing his identity. He took a sip from one of the mugs. “Fit for the gods.” Then with a small knife, he whacked off a triangle of cheese from the large wedge and plopped it into his mouth. Anne’s mouth watered and her stomach growled so loudly she was afraid he heard it.

      “Mmm. What flavor!” He ate with slow, tantalizing relish. “I know you’re not sleeping, wench,” he said finally. “If you’re hungry, come to the table.”

      Reluctantly she got to her feet and slid into the seat across from him. She bit into a biscuit, the flaky morsel almost melting in her mouth. Had the woman who baked his food provided the feminine touch about the cottage, as well?

      Anne ate daintily, refusing to show how starved she was. Besides, his large masculine presence made her so nervous, she could hardly swallow. His man scent reminded her of her favorite glen at Wycliffe Manor, when the late afternoon sunshine permeated the air with the aroma of cedar.

      He had removed his hat and his dark hair fell loosely about his mask. The sputtering candlelight shot deep auburn glints through the thick chestnut mane. He didn’t need blades or pistols—just the sight of the fearsome rogue would strike terror into the hearts of those he robbed, she thought.

      “Drink the brandy.” The black silk fluttered about his chin when he spoke. “It will help you sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll snare a rabbit. You’ll be hungry by then.”

      She took a sip from the tankard. The liquid burned a line straight down to her gullet. She blinked back tears, but forced another swallow. He watched her silently, the only sounds coming from the crackling logs in the hearth. She couldn’t help wonder what he was thinking and she would have given anything to see the expression behind that mask.

      “More?” he urged, lifting the bottle, but she shook her head. He turned and the mask moved slightly about his mouth. She caught a brief glimpse of his chin. He wore no beard, she noted. Through the slits, his eyes glittered with something that strangely thrilled her, but terrified her, as well.

      If only he’d say something to vex her again! His irritating words had taken her mind off her fear, her uncertainty, and the peculiar way he made her insides feel.

      After they had finished, she watched him place the knife with the remaining cheese and return it to the shelf. She scraped her chair back and warily sat on the edge of the bed. He strode past her to the wooden trunk in the corner of the room. Anne dangled her legs over the bed and swung her long hair over her shoulder, watching him with interest.

      He dragged the trunk into the middle of the room and creaked open the lid. Curious, Anne straightened for a better view.

      After rummaging through the contents, he pulled out a gold-handled hairbrush, several folded undergarments, a blue silk gown and one more article before he sat back on his haunches and slammed the lid. “Buttercup is a bonny color for you,” he said, tossing a bright yellow night rail at her.

      Anne gasped, staring at the delicate lacy confection as though it were a coiled snake. “I’m not...wearing this, and you can’t make me. It’s not proper.”

      He chuckled under his breath, and she didn’t need to see his evil face to imagine his don’t-dare-me expression. “Proper?” He slammed the chest back against the wall with a booted foot. “It’s a bit late to worry about propriety, wench.”

      Anne’s face flushed with self-consciousness as she examined the exquisite gown. Delicate embroidered yellow rosebuds decorated the soft gathers about the neckline. She wondered how he came by such finery. “Whose clothes are—?”

      “A rich merchant’s wife, if I remember.” He laughed softly beneath the mask. “I came by the lady’s wardrobe quite innocently. She was so thrilled to meet the Black Fox that she kissed me boldly. I was so taken by her charms that I neglected to notice her husband’s growing jealousy until he tossed his wife’s trunks from the coach. I would have returned them, but I avoid possessive husbands whenever I can.”

      “I bet you do!” Anne hated his arrogance. Suddenly a fearful thought crossed her mind. “You’re not sleeping with me!”

      “You have nothing to fear.” His devilish chuckle deepened. “I prefer my women...clean.”

      “Clean?” she repeated, aghast.

      “Aye. You’re mud from head to foot. Take off that silly man’s disguise, at least. Tomorrow, I’ll heat some water for a bath. And if you balk, I’ll give it to you, myself.”

      Anne pushed back the veiled threat that he would sleep with her then! Her hand rose to her throat. “I hope they catch you and you swing from a gibbet.” Anne tumbled forward and leaned toward him. “I’ll dance a jig at your hanging and help them tug on the rope.”

      “My, my. Sounds like you’re going to be busy. I suggest you get some sleep to keep up your energy.” He unfastened his flowing cape and tossed it over the wood fireplace settle. “I’ll sleep here,” he said, pushing the bench nearer the hearth. “Don’t try anything foolish. I’m a very light sleeper.”