MAIDEN in the Tudor Court. June Francis

his common sense and his sympathy for a fellow human being in such a situation were at war with each other. ‘You will not catch up with the lady on the road, Master Wood. I doubt I will do so on horseback. Besides, it will take you a long time to walk to London. If your strength does not fail you and you are not attacked by robbers and you manage to reach your destination, it is even possible that you might find the lady not at home. What would you do then?’

      ‘I had not thought so far ahead.’ She heaved a deep sigh.

      ‘You must make a decision.’

      Rosamund lifted her head and saw a look in his eyes that surprised her. ‘Are you suggesting that I share your horse?’ she asked.

      ‘I do not have all day, Master Wood,’ said Alex, untying the cord at her wrist. ‘If I were in your situation, I wouldn’t accept my offer. But of course, it would depend on how desperate I was to speak to Lady Elizabeth.’

      Rosamund was extremely desperate. If she stayed here, who was to say that her stepmother and her men would not find her as soon as he left? Of course, in London there was the risk of being seen by Edward.

      ‘If you are going to decide to come with me, we must make a move now,’ rasped Alex. ‘The horse will not be able to travel swiftly carrying the two of us and I need to be in London by the twenty-second of this month.’

      ‘Why are you so keen to help me?’ asked Rosamund suspiciously.

      He shrugged. ‘You are a fellow traveller and did not our Lord say we should help one another?’

      ‘You have not particularly behaved like a Christian so far,’ Rosamund dared to say. ‘But what choice do I have? I pray that you will prove to be the better of my options.’

      ‘I am truly honoured by your confidence in me,’ said Alex drily.

      Rosamund flushed and could only hope that he did not guess her secret. So far he appeared not to have penetrated her disguise and God willing he would never do so.

      ‘But any wrong moves, such as trying to remove your weapon from my belt, Master Wood, and you’re in trouble. I’m not so naïve as to believe you might not try.’

      The thought had not occurred to her. ‘I give you my word!’

      ‘The word of a liar!’ His gold-brown eyes flashed fire. ‘I will be on my guard. I have not forgotten waking up with such a headache that I could not remember where I was or who I was and had a knife wound in my shoulder that almost killed me.’

      Rosamund’s curiosity was roused. ‘Who was the person that did this to you? Perhaps you gave them such a dislike of your boorish behaviour that they feared what you might do next.’

      Alex growled, ‘Watch your mouth, lad. Ingrid knew I trusted her and that was why she was able to betray me.’ He pulled himself up short. What was he thinking of, speaking of a matter that had cut him to the heart to this—this—? He bent over her. His nose twitched as the feather in Master Wood’s hat tickled his nostrils and he sneezed, then swore. ‘I hope you are not going to make me regret my offer, but you will come to no harm, unless you give me real cause to slit your throat.’

      Rosamund went as white as a sheet beneath her dirt. ‘I will do exactly as you say,’ she said in a trembling voice. ‘I like my throat as it is.’

      I must be mad, thought Alex. Gaining information from this one could cause me more trouble than it is worth. Yet he felt a monster for frightening this slender youth. Yet his brush with death six months ago had proved to him the dangers of allowing anyone to get too close to him.

      Taking a blanket from a saddlebag, he formed it into a kind of cushion. Then he told Master Wood he would give him a leg up. Rosamund placed a foot in his laced hands and gripped his shoulder. She felt his muscles bunch and thought with a man as strong as him on her side, she would not need to fear her stepfamily again. Then she asked herself what was she thinking of even to consider he could be an ally?

      As soon as she was up on the horse, Alex climbed into the saddle. ‘Now which direction do we take to reach the London road?’ he asked, thinking he would not be in this situation now if he had asked for a guide before leaving Lathom House, instead of just directions.

      ‘Take the left-hand turn,’ replied Rosamund.

      As he took the turning, she was jerked against him and needed to clutch his cloak if she was not to slide from the horse. Suddenly she felt far removed from her previous existence and excitement stirred inside her. Even so, after a while, she began to feel apprehensive and questioned whether she had made the right decision. They would be on the road for days and that meant spending nights with this man.

      ‘I want information,’ said Alex, aware of those small hands on his back and the soft breath on his neck. ‘Tell me—how did Sir James die?’

      ‘It happened when he was in London. Lady Monica told me that it was an apoplexy, but I did not believe her. Far—’ Rosamund clamped her mouth shut on the word and recalled how often she had been told to watch her tongue or keep silent and no one is going to believe what a mad girl has to say.

      ‘Why do you not believe her?’

      ‘If I say what I think, you might accuse me of being mad,’ she said in a toneless voice.

      ‘Why should I believe you mad?’ he asked.

      She did not answer him immediately, remembering vividly Edward accusing her of being possessed by demons. In her loneliness, she had created an imaginary companion to whom she talked. He had overheard her and taunted her. She had screamed her denial and flew at him. He had knocked her to the ground and then dragged her by her hair to his mother. Lady Monica had locked Rosamund in her bedchamber for three days and nights and fed her solely on dry bread and water. Rosamund had threatened that she would tell her father what they had done to her when he returned home. But her stepmother had said that Sir James would agree with their actions because he knew his daughter was mad, but pretended not to notice her strange behaviour because he was ashamed of her. So again, she had kept her mouth shut, wanting her father to love her and hoping that the next time he went away they would remember her silence and she would suffer less at their hands.

      ‘Answer me!’ demanded Alex.

      ‘If I told you that I believed he was murdered, then you might agree with them that it was a figment of my fevered imagination,’ she said in a fierce voice.

      ‘Murdered! By “them” I presume you mean those that live at Appleby Manor?’

      ‘Perhaps, but I will say no more and you cannot make me do so. Even if you were to dismount and drag me from this horse and beat me.’

      What a strange mixture was this youth, thought Alex. One moment he is frightened of me and prepared to do what I say, but the next he speaks out bravely and it is obvious that he can be stubborn. He seriously considered the possibility that the youth had been beaten before in an attempt to gain information from him or for punishment. Another thought struck him. A father might beat an effeminate son, or—even a daughter who dressed as a youth. But the thought that bothered him most was that his travelling companion suspected Sir James of having been murdered in London. Was it possible? And if so—why?

      He thought of Harry and recalled how when he had rescued him that he had been unable to remember whether he had once had siblings. Harry’s earliest memory was of the cupboard-like space on the ship, where he had woken with a sore head and a frightening loss of identity.

      Alex’s thoughts were interrupted by his sudden awareness that Master Wood must have dozed off. His head was going bump, bump, bump against his shoulder. Alex reached behind him and seized the front of the youth’s doublet and bellowed at him to rouse himself.

      Rosamund started awake and at first could not think where she was and then the motion of the horse and the scent of the man filled her nostrils. She realised that her face was squashed against his shoulder and she found herself breathing in the smell of sandalwood and his maleness with an unfamiliar pleasure.