The risk was too great and he had no intention of losing her now, not after fourteen years of needing her to wash the blood and dirt from his family name. Had she any idea what her absence had cost him? All of them?
When Weltworth was long behind them and the widening road grew dim in the dusk, he turned his horse into a dense patch of trees. He pulled her from the saddle. “We shall camp here for the night.”
No protest. Not even the slightest indication she’d heard him.
He tethered his horse to a sycamore, unfastened his saddlebag, and went to work with his tinderbox. Gads, but he was hungry. Although he’d eaten half a loaf during their ride—of which she’d refused even a bite—his stomach churned for something more substantial.
Unfortunately, it was looking like the rest of that loaf would have to suffice. At least until he could trust her in a village.
“Hungry?”
Again, she gave no reaction.
He snapped a couple more twigs, blew until the small flame enlarged, and sprinkled in a few dry leaves. “Well, I am. Sit down with you.”
Without a word, she lowered herself to the ground on the other side of the fire.
For the first time, he had a chance to look at her. Toreallylook at her. To see the eyes, gray and doe-like, blinking so fast he suspected tears. Her hair was much the same as it had been before—dark blond, gleaming—only without the perfect ringlets of her childhood years.
And her mouth. He saw Lord Gillingham in the grim line, but he saw her mother in the trembling corners. Beautiful, this creature. Even as she was, in the stained cotton gown and brown pinafore, as plain as the forest he’d stolen her from. Had she been hidden out there all these years? Alone with that mongrel of a man?
He cleared his throat and looked away. If he were better at words, this wouldn’t be so difficult—and explaining the truth would already be behind him.
But he wasn’t.
And heaven help him, but he didn’t know how to say anything or how to soften the blow or how to ruin her life in a way that wouldn’t hurt so much.
He grabbed the loaf of bread from his bag. “I am taking you to Monbury Manor, a three-day ride from here.” Peeling away the linen one corner at a time, he focused on his meal instead of the woman across from him. “To meet your father, Lord Gillingham.”
Silence.
He took a couple of bites, chewed long, swallowed hard. Then, folding the bread back into the linen, he added, “Eat the rest of this, for I shall not have you making yourself ill—”
“My father is Captain Jasper Ellis.”
“I’m afraid not. No one is quite certain who, in truth, your Captain Ellis is.”
“He knew this would happen.”
“What?”
“All these years…he knew. He warned me. He expected someone would come looking for him, but it wasn’t his fault.”
“What wasn’t?”
“The mutiny. The shipwreck. The loss of cargo and—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pushed to his feet. “This has nothing to do with Ellis’ success or failure on the sea—or anything else he’s told you all these years.”
A pallor stole the pink from her cheeks.
“It has to do with you. And you alone.”
Nothing made sense. He had no right to lie to her this way, to tell her things untrue, to pretend Captain was anything but what he’d always promised he was.
Her father.
The man she needed, the man she loved, the man she cried to when the nightmares grew so devilish she couldn’t bear them. How could he be anything less than her own flesh and blood?
