The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis

his body slump like a sack of grain and heard the rhythm of his breathing change. She should have fetched him some food earlier, but she would not wake him now so he could eat. Best he rested. It seemed that the brandy and wine had done their work. What would Anthony Mortimer think if he knew that she had been dosing Nicholas with his best liquor? Not that she had any intention of informing him of the fact, although perhaps he would notice the level in the bottle had dropped. Hopefully he would not think that she had taken to drink because he could not find a weaver willing to work with her. Of course, if she accepted Nicholas’s offer of marriage she would not have to worry about weavers or what Anthony Mortimer thought of her.

      A sigh escaped her and she walked over to the children and told them they must be quiet so as not to wake Master Hurst. She was aware of the girls’ eyes on her and wondered if Margaret had told her younger sister about the conversation she had overheard. How would they feel if she did marry him so soon after the death of their father?

      She turned back to Nicholas, noticing how the bandage on his shoulder showed up so white against his tanned skin. There must have been occasions when the heat had been so intense where he had travelled that he had stripped off his shirt. She watched the rise and fall of his chest. Such a chest! Strong and broad with just a sweep of fine reddish-golden hair forming a V to the waist of his hose. She was aware of a heat building inside her feminine core such as she had never experienced with her late husband.

      One of the girls spoke and Jane looked up and realised her stepdaughters were still watching her. She felt her cheeks flame despite knowing they could not possibly know what she was thinking. She should be ashamed of herself. ‘A blanket,’ she said brightly. ‘Master Hurst will catch a chill if he is not kept warm.’

      She hurried over to the other chest where she kept sleeping pallets, as well as blankets. From its interior she removed what she needed and returned to Nicholas. As she did so it occurred to her that as far as she was aware her stepdaughters had never seen a man half-naked before. Their father had not been one to bare his flesh, even in her company, but it was too late now to tell them to avert their gaze. Suddenly she remembered the classical naked sculptures in the garden of the house in Oxford that her husband had chiselled out himself. She had voiced her disapproval because of his daughters, but he had told her it was art. At the time she had thought how contrary men were. Yet, so many considered contrariness a failing in women.

      She unfolded the blanket and tucked it about Nicholas, wondering what to do about their sleeping arrangements. Propriety insisted that he remove himself to the inn. Yet she was not of a mind to wake him and insist on his going there. Neither did she think it would it be right for him to do so on the morrow in his wounded state.

      Upstairs there was a large bedchamber and an adjoining smaller one. She and the children normally shared the double bed in the larger room, but during the worst of the winter weather when ice had frosted the inside of the windows and their breath turned to mist, they had taken to sleeping on pallets downstairs in front of the fire. She did not like doing so, but common sense told her that it was the sensible move to make if they were to survive the winter without succumbing to severe chest ailments. She had been considering moving upstairs the last few days, but then the snow had arrived. Hopefully it would go as suddenly as it had come.

      The children had finished eating their supper and now Jane ate some bread and broth. Then, with their help, she removed pallets and blankets from a chest and settled them on the floor a safe distance from the fire. After saying a prayer with them, she waited until they were asleep before removing some coins from a jar. Then she put on her coat and left the house.

      The storm seemed to have passed and the snow was turning to mush underfoot. She could see stars twinkling overhead, although the moon had not yet risen. Anna lived but a short distance away up the High Street with her baker husband, toddler and five older children, so it was only a matter of minutes before Jane was knocking on her front door.

      She refused Anna’s invitation to come inside, saying, ‘I must get back as soon as possible. You managed to feed Master Hurst’s daughter without difficulty?’

      ‘Aye. She is only tiny and does not need as much milk as Simon. My son is almost weaned, so it is fortunate for her that I have been feeding Simon, otherwise my milk would have dried up. As it is, only our Lord knows how long I will be able to feed Simon and this new little one.’

      Jane looked at her in dismay and then suddenly thought of Tabitha, a nursing mother and wife to Ned, one of Philip’s troupe of travelling players. For a short while Tabitha had helped Jane in the Oxford house towards the end of her pregnancy while Rebecca was away. If the worse came to the worst then perhaps Ned could spare Tabitha if she was able to feed Matilda? She would keep it in mind.

      ‘It has occurred to me,’ said Anna, ‘that the little one will need a feed during the night and at first light. I suggest that I keep her with me until morning.’

      Jane agreed. ‘I will not bother asking Master Hurst as he is fast asleep in the chair. I doubt he will stir until morning. I deem he is not well enough to be moved to the inn.’

      Anna gave her a look that spoke volumes and Jane flushed as she pressed the coins she had brought into Anna’s hand, adding, ‘I will bring Simon to you in the morning and collect Master Hurst’s daughter then.’ She wished her a good night before hurrying back to the house.

      * * *

      She was relieved to find Nicholas still sleeping, although she thought he looked uncomfortable and would awake with a terrible crick in his neck if he remained in such a position. She fetched a small cushion and managed to ease it beneath his head without much difficulty.

      He muttered indistinctly and opened his eyes. She held her breath as he smiled up at her, seemingly instantly recognising her. Then his eyelids drooped. Impulsively she dropped a kiss on his head. His smile had been so warm and friendly that she was oddly affected by it. She lingered for a while, considering his proposal and what he had said about her having a choice of two houses in which to live. That he had two homes was news to her. However, it would mean another move for the children. Was that fair on them when they had only recently left the home that had been theirs since their births and were just settling down here in Witney?

      She continued looking at him as she hung up her coat, wondering if he would do as she asked and wait a month before broaching the subject of marriage again. Then she bolted the front door before going into the workroom and making sure the door to the garden was locked as well. After placing a log on the fire that should smoulder for hours, she unrolled her own pallet and, wrapping a blanket around her, lay down to sleep. She had much to ponder on, but was so tired that she was asleep in no time.

      * * *

      It was discomfort and pain in his head and shoulder, as well as the noise of a woman hushing a crying baby, that woke Nicholas. For a moment he believed himself back at Louise’s house in Flanders and then the events of yesterday flooded in. Somewhere a cockerel crowed and then another and another. He forced open his eyes and looked about him.

      ‘Jane, is that you?’ he asked in a low voice.

      In the pearly-grey light coming through the window he saw a woman’s head turn and then she tiptoed over to him. He thought he remembered Jane placing a cushion beneath his cheek. Had he dreamed that she had also pressed a kiss on the sore spot on his head? If so, that raised an interesting question.

      ‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ she said. ‘How are you feeling this morning?’

      He shrugged. ‘I had intended spending the night at the inn in order to protect your reputation, but...’

      ‘You were exhausted and who is to say that your enemies might not have found you there?’ she said hastily. ‘I fear you must have been uncomfortable.’

      ‘I’ve spent nights in worse places,’ he said, easing his neck and slowly rolling his head before drawing the blanket over a naked shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘I’m taking Simon to Anna. I left your daughter with her last night and will bring her back with me.’

      ‘The nightly