Page 50 of Against the Wind

“No, my good man. I require only information,” Rutledge said. Then he allowed a brief inspection of his fine garments, knowing they would get him information that would not normally be shared.

“Of course, m’lord,” the proprietress’s son said. “What information would ye be wanting?”

“The young woman who just entered. The redhead. Is she a guest of the inn?”

“Why, yes, m’lord. Ye speak of Mrs. Donet.”

“Mrs. Donet?” Rutledge repeated, dubious.

“She and her husband, a Frenchman, are guests of the inn. Did ye want me to tell her she has a caller?”

“No, I must have been mistaken. I only saw the woman from the back. Thank you.”

Having what he needed, Rutledge left the establishment, fuming as he did. So, Katherine had rejected him, a peer of the realm, to marry a commoner? And a Frenchie no less! How dare she! Why, the wench had likely married the first man she encountered—if she was married at all. The little tramp might be only the man’s mistress.

Rutledge calmed himself, finding comfort in his luck at stumbling across her. Soon enough he would reclaim what was his. Yes, even if it required the use of his sword, the Frenchman would not have her for long.

Married to a traitor! Kit threw her sketchpad on the bed and dropped her cloak over the chair, all the while hearing the same voice shouting in her head she had heard as she fled the Dog Inn. She stood in the middle of their bedchamber, mind awhirl, thinking of first one scene then another, but she had only an incomplete patchwork of knowledge about Martin, the man she had married.

She reached for her sketchpad and flipped to the drawings of Martin she’d made during their trip to the Midlands. His handsome, intelligent face stared back at her from the pages. Thick dark hair with a lock fallen onto his forehead, winged brows over eyes of darkest blue. Even though the drawings didn’t show the color of his eyes, she’d captured the heat of his gaze. And his mouth…those sensual, curving lips had kissed her most intimately. A man of great yet tender passion. A man of mystery.

Mystery. Was this the face of a traitor as well? Is that the reason they were here under an assumed name? And, if it was, what was she to do? Could she betray the man she loved? Could she live with his treachery if she did not?

The door to their bedchamber suddenly opened, and Kit whipped around to see the man of her many questions.

“Ah, Kit, you’re here.” He closed the distance between them for a kiss, momentarily confusing her. “Did you have a pleasant morning in the village, ma cherie? I have missed you.”

Kit was glad she had made some drawings of the church, though unfinished, and hastily turned to them. She had to keep a calm demeanor. She could not allow him to see the shock she carried within her at learning she was wed to a blackguard. “Y-yes…it was m-most interesting.” She handed him the sketch of the old medieval structure she’d worked on before taking her luncheon. “I visited St. Matthew’s.”

The charcoal made the stone edifice seem even more a cold monument to the past. Her heart thundered in her chest as she waited for his assessment, hoping he didn’t detect her rapid pulse. But his eyes were not on her, only the drawing.

“You’re a wonder with those pencils, Kit. I think these splendid. Was the church as magnificent once you were inside?”

“I thought so.” She reached for what she could say. “The colored-glass windows, the old tile-work and the carved wood of the nave are beautiful. The new curate paused in his work and gave me a tour.”

“That was most thoughtful of him,” Martin offered, setting down the sketchpad. “Did you have something to eat?”

“I did. A bowl of stew.” She would not mention that she’d eaten that stew at the Dog Inn or that she had witnessed his meeting with the other conspirators. She could not.

“I had only ale and could use something more in my belly,” he said, patting his stomach. “Oh, and I met the father of the child that John and I snared from the horns of that bull.”

“Where?”

“At one of the inns. I spent most of the morning with him and some other villagers, paying a call on a man John and I had to see. You know how men blather on when they sit around drinking.”

Kit knew exactly how some men spoke when they sat around drinking, having heard it for herself. The man, Edward Moore, the father of little Johnnie, must be one of the men Martin had been meeting with at the Dog Inn. She wondered if Moore’s wife knew the treachery her husband was involved in. Kit recalled that Mrs. Weightman had encouraged her son to attend the meeting, and Mrs. Onion was enthusiastic about a new government as well. So, yes, Mrs. Moore likely knew of her husband’s treasonous activities.

Another thought struck her. A fear, really. Was the whole village of Pentridge swept up in such madness?

She feigned illness that night, too upset to make love to the man she had married, the man who had lied to her or at least failed to tell her the full truth. He was kind, which only made her dilemma more difficult. She could not find the courage to address the situation and fell asleep with her emotions in turmoil.

The next morning she woke to a knock on the door to their rooms. Martin stirred beside her and she felt his weight lift from the bed. Opening her eyes, she could see faint light coming through the nearby window.

Her husband quickly donned his breeches and boots and strode into the sitting room. Through the open door, she saw Martin open the door to the corridor a crack.

Kit heard, “’Tis John, Martin. I have more on that matter we discussed last night. The news is urgent.”

Martin opened the door to the corridor and John stepped inside. Before Martin spoke, he shut the door to the bedchamber, effectively closing Kit out. But she was curious to know what John considered urgent, so she lowered her feet to the floor and tiptoed to the door between the two rooms, listening intently to hear their exchange.