Page 40 of Against the Wind

Chapter 14

They arrived in Pentridge just before twilight. Kit had experienced every stone in the road as the carriage bounced along a narrow lane flanked by earthen banks topped with hedgerows. As they approached the village, the road descended and the earthen banks fell away to reveal small white cottages set at right angles to the road. A ways on, she saw a sandstone inn. A simple sign with dark brown letters hanging just under the roof declared it to be the Dog Inn.

A short distance more, they passed the crenellated tower of a medieval church surrounded by yew hedges. It must be the one the coachman spoke of, for it appeared ancient, reminding Kit of a small castle set upon a hill. A line of tall Scots pine trees stood in the distance stretching up to the sky, forming a wall of dark green.

The carriage slowed to a stop in front of a large two-story building constructed of the same buff-colored stone as the Dog Inn. The slanting gray slate roof contrasted with the faded brown of the stone, though equally rocklike. The sign for the White Horse Inn featured a prancing white palfrey painted on a black background. The addition of lace curtains on the two rows of windows crossing the front of the inn softened the hard appearance and provided a much-needed feminine touch.

Martin, who before seemed lost in his thoughts, gestured out the carriage window. “We’ve arrived. This will be our home for the time we are in the Midlands, Kitten.”

The inn was a welcome sight, and she smiled in relief.

Martin opened the door and stepped out. “You will find the accommodations quite adequate, I believe. Though not London, certainly, we’ll have two rooms and I’ve been told the establishment is well cared for. It’s fine for you to take a meal in the common room during the day, you’ll be safe here. It’s important to me, Kit, that you confine yourself to the inn and the village. If you wish to go farther afield and I’m not available, you must take John.”

“Where will you be?” she asked as he handed her down from the carriage.

John dismounted to join them, and she didn’t miss the glance her husband gave the young man. “John and I have business in the surrounding towns. I expect to be away often during the day, though I should return in time to take dinner with you.”

Kit felt keenly disappointed. She didn’t want to be confined to their rooms, or the inn, or even to the village if there were things to see and sketch around the countryside. It was unusual, she knew, for women to be included in matters of business, but she had hopes for their marriage to be a partnership in more than matters of the home. Perhaps she could eventually assist in his work.

In their rooms, she raised the issue again. “I cannot accept being confined to these chambers, Martin, however comfortable they may be. Though I know some women are content to do so, I am not a potted plant you can set in a corner and forget.”

“No, I suspect not,” he said with a small chuckle as he took off his coat. Apparently he found her ire amusing, which further irritated her. “Still, you will do as I say. It is only for your protection I ask this, Kit. Oh, and we are registered as Mr. and Mrs. Donet.”

“Why is that? Are we hiding from someone?”

“No, not hiding. But my work here requires the…er, fiction.”

“I do not understand.”

“No, I expect you do not. You need not be aware of all I am doing here, you need only trust me. The deception is necessary.”

Kit was frustrated and angry. Her new husband was a man of many talents it seemed, and not a few disguises. And he wanted her to trust him? “The last time you asked me to trust you I found myself in your bedchamber—a room you thought we’d be sharing for the night.”

“And didn’t that work out well?” he asked with a wry smile.

Kit’s eyes narrowed. He thought to play the charming rogue once again, but it was not to be borne. Still, she found it difficult to stay angry with him when his blue eyes were smiling and his white teeth displayed that rakish grin. The man was handsome and mysterious, a dangerous combination to be sure.

“Hmm,” was all she could manage.

More seriously he said, “You will do as I say, Kit. I do not want to be worrying about you while I’m away from our lodgings. Perhaps you will find something to draw in the village.”

Mary had given Kit a new sketchbook and pencils as they left London, a welcome gift. Still, Martin’s dismissal and unbending stance left her annoyed. She wasn’t a wife to be put away, and why was he so concerned about her protection? Rutledge was surely back in London, so what trouble could she get into in a small country village—unless one considered the danger of being surrounded by a herd of sheep congregating on the road? Surely he was being overprotective. But she was too tired to argue, so she reclined on the settee in the sitting room and let out a sigh.

“Come, Kitten. Some dinner is in order and then to bed. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll take you riding.” He smiled again with those dark blue eyes, and she wondered if the hunger she saw in them was for food or for her. Possibly a little of both.

The heavy weight of a body pressed down on her. Cruel, hard lips crushed hers, and Lord Rutledge rose above her, a twisted, evil sneer sweeping across his face. “I’ll have you now, Katherine.”

He forced his body between her thighs, letting his hard shaft settle against her. No! This could not be happening, she would not let him have her. Pressing her hands to his chest, she shouted, “I don’t want this…take your hands off me…stop!” Balling her fists, she pounded against his shoulders. Using every bit of force she had, she twisted away, trying to pull free, but his strength was too great.

“Kit! Kit, wake up!”

Through the lifting fog of the nightmare, Kit recognized Martin’s deep voice. Slowly the fog receded as she woke to her surroundings. Their room lay in darkness, and Martin sat next to her, holding her and whispering words of comfort. Her skin glistened with sweat from her struggles, her breath came in pants. She could feel her heart racing.

“Martin?”

“Yes, Kitten, it’s me. You were dreaming. From the way you were fighting, I’d say you were having a terrible nightmare.”

“I was…about Rutledge. He was attacking me.”