The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis

and he pressed down on the latch and entered the building. He found himself in a darkened room and almost fell over the loom that was there, narrowly avoiding bumping into a spinning wheel and several baskets on the floor. Before he could climb the two steps that led to an inner door, it was flung wide from the other side and Jane stood there, holding a candlestick that provided a circle of warm light.

      ‘This way,’ she said.

      He thanked her and entered the main chamber of the house. Instantly the two girls and the boy who were waiting there rushed over to him. He dropped the saddlebags.

      ‘You’ve come, you’ve come,’ cried Elizabeth, hugging as far as she could reach of his waist whilst James’s small arms wrapped around one of his legs and Margaret stood close by, beaming up at him.

      He had never expected such an enthusiastic welcome, although he remembered the children being friendly enough at their first meeting last year. He had been told to tell them stories and had done his best. He thought how different this greeting was from that of his elder brother Christopher’s sons and daughter, whom he scarcely knew. They were inclined to be tongue-tied in his company, as if overcome by his presence. He felt tears prick his eyes. If it had not been for Jane ordering the children to allow Master Hurst to warm himself by the fire, he might have been completely unmanned.

      She set a chair close to the fire and bade him be seated. On unsteady legs he crossed the floor, hesitating by the cradle to gaze down at the child sleeping there.

      ‘He has grown,’ he murmured.

      ‘What did you expect? He is more than four months old now,’ said Jane, her face softening.

      Without lifting his head, he said, ‘I will never forget seeing him born. It was a happening completely outside my experience.’

      ‘That was obvious,’ she said unsteadily.

      He looked up, caught her eye and she blushed.

      They continued to stare at each other, both remembering the forced intimacy of Simon’s birth at a time when they were only newly acquainted.

      He recalled her cursing him and his rushing to carry out her commands, fearing she might die before the midwife arrived. She had called him a lackwit when he had not reacted fast enough, for Simon’s birth had been imminent. When the boy’s head had appeared, the ground had appeared to rock beneath Nicholas’s feet and he had thought he would swoon. Fortunately her unexpectedly calm voice had recalled him to his responsibility towards both mother and child. He had once seen a calf born and although that experience was definitely different he had managed to react in a way that met Jane’s approval.

      As for Jane, she was thinking that it was probably best that they had never met before the day of Simon’s birth, otherwise she would never have had the nerve to order him around the way she had done. Hearsay was not the same as actually meeting someone face-to-face. Of course, she had known more about Nicholas than he did of her, yet setting eyes on a real live hero was a very different matter from one who lived in the pages of a book and somehow seemed larger than life.

      Chapter Two

      Jane dropped her gaze and Nicholas forced himself to cross the remaining distance to the fire, wondering afresh what madness had caused him to unburden himself that day of Simon’s birth and speak of Louise. He should have kept his mouth shut because it was obvious to him that Jane might find it difficult to accept Louise’s daughter in the circumstances. Why had he not considered that as a possibility? Was it because Jane had so impressed him with that maternal side of her nature? He could only pray that his daughter would be able to win her heart as those children in her charge had won his with the warmth of their welcome.

      He sank thankfully into a chair. The children followed and stationed themselves with a girl on either side of him whilst James leaned against his knee and fired a question at him.

      Jane listened to them talking as she removed her gloves and coat with trembling hands and hung the latter on a peg. She took a deep breath to calm herself, wondering how badly he was wounded and thinking of the baby concealed beneath his doublet. Had that woman rejected her daughter or was Louise dead?

      Jane took another deep breath and walked briskly over to the group by the fire. ‘This will not do,’ she said firmly. ‘Margaret, you will go to Anna’s house and tell her I have immediate need of her. If Matt is there, ask him to come, as well. Elizabeth, you will set bowls and spoons on the table, as well as drinking vessels. James, you will watch the fire and let me know if it needs more wood.’

      ‘And what will you do, Mama?’ asked the boy.

      Her face softened as she gazed down at him. ‘Master Hurst has been wounded and I must tend him.’

      The children’s eyes rounded. ‘Has he been on one of his adventures and had to fight the natives?’ asked Elizabeth.

      A low chuckle issued from Nicholas’s throat, followed by the words ‘Not exactly.’ He fumbled with the fastening on his coat. ‘Although I was attacked on my way here.’

      The children gasped. ‘Did you manage to kill one of them with your sword?’ asked James.

      ‘Hush now! Do not bother Master Hurst with such questions.’ Jane shooed away the children and went to his aid. As she undid the fastenings on the sodden garment and set it to dry on a three-legged stool in front of the fire, she noticed a slit in the material. It was sticky and she realised that was where the blade must have penetrated the fabric and the stickiness was blood. She felt slightly faint and for a moment could not move. He could have so easily been killed! The thought frightened her.

      ‘My daughter, Jane,’ he reminded her in a gruff voice.

      She gazed down at his bulging doublet, feeling quite peculiar, almost envious of the child that lay beneath the padded russet broadcloth so close to his heart. What had happened to her mother? Jane’s eyes went to his face and for a moment their questioning gazes locked. Then he closed his eyes and she realised that he was exhausted and she would have to wait for an answer.

      She willed her fingers to remain steady as she removed the girdle about his waist that held his short sword and a pouch. She set them aside and began to undo the fastenings on his doublet. The squashed nose of a baby appeared and then the rest of her face. By my Lady, she is pretty, thought Jane, a catch in her throat. She touched the child’s petal-soft skin with the back of her hand and realised it was not as cold as she feared it might be.

      Then she remembered what Nicholas had told her about the child’s beautiful mother and struggled with a surge of emotion, thinking again of Louise and resenting the relationship she had shared with this man.

      The tiny mouth opened and fastened on the side of Jane’s hand and began to suck. She was strangely moved despite knowing in her heart of hearts that she had no desire to give shelter to this child of Louise’s.

      ‘It is a wonder you did not suffocate her,’ said Jane roughly, undoing the rest of the doublet to enable her to remove the baby, who was dressed in swaddling bands.

      She found herself being surveyed by a pair of hazel eyes that were flecked with green and gold, the same as Nicholas’s. She told herself that she should be relieved that the little girl had her father’s eyes, but her feelings were too confused to feel so. Was that because she wanted to think the worst of Louise, believing that she had lied to Nicholas about the child she carried? Yet as the baby began to cry, Jane’s maternal instincts surfaced and she rocked Matilda in her arms.

      Nicholas gazed at them both from beneath drooping eyelids. ‘I imagined the pair of you looking as you do now,’ he croaked.

      ‘Really,’ said Jane coolly. ‘Is that why you are here, simply because you thought I could take care of your daughter? I had thought better of you, Master Hurst. You disappoint me.’

      Nicholas shifted in the chair and a spasm of pain caused him to place a hand on his wounded shoulder. ‘You misjudge me, Mistress Caldwell! I hired a wet nurse for my daughter in Bruges. I came here to confirm