Page 51 of Against the Wind

“I met a man at breakfast,” John said, “a printer and bookseller from Dewsbury named Willan. We got to talking about conditions in the Midlands. As he rambled on, he told me William Oliver came to his shop and tried to convince him to attend a meeting of unhappy workers. Oliver pleaded, saying his London friends were almost heartbroken that the people in the country were so quiet on such a great matter. Willan, who seems a sensible sort, thought the whole thing strange and did not take up with the man. I knew ye’d want to be aware, sir. Oliver is recruiting more men.”

“You did well, John. I think we’d best attend Oliver’s gatherings as the time for his planned uprising grows close. Did you learn where the next meeting will be held?”

“In a barn on the far end of town on the road to Belper. Ye have some time. ’Twill not happen till noon.”

“Very well. I will see to my lady and my breakfast and then join you.”

Kit scurried back to bed as Martin returned.

“Anything wrong?” she asked, hoping he would share with her his knowledge of what this man Oliver was about. Would he tell her about the meeting to plan a revolt?

“No, nothing wrong, Kitten,” Martin said as he leaned down to kiss her. “Just some business John and I must attend this afternoon.” Sitting next to her he added, “Much as I’d prefer to spend the morning in bed with you, we’d best get dressed and have some breakfast.”

He seemed distracted and, saddened by his vague answer, Kit complied. But then, did she really expect him to confess his treachery?

As she dressed for the day, her thoughts scattered. Glancing at Martin as he pulled a shirt from his trunk, she watched his back muscles flex and remembered the feel of his skin, like satin over steel. How could he do this? And how could she not worry about the man she had married, the man she loved? He was an intelligent, resourceful man, not at all foolish. Why, his good friend was a marquess! Yet she could not dismiss how comfortable he was with weapons, how easily he had taken on the highwaymen and how cooly he had faced a maddened bull. Would he apply those same skills to treason? The whole situation seemed unbelievable and frightening.

Torn between love and what she had heard with her own ears, she wondered if she should tell someone. A magistrate, perhaps? But the idea of betraying her husband, a loathsome thought, hit her like a punch to her stomach. No, she could not do it. She could not reconcile the man she had known in London with the man he seemed here in the Midlands.

She tried to put the best light on the situation, tried to imagine a world where she could accept what he plotted. Perhaps by keeping her in the dark, Martin was trying to protect her from the consequences of his activities. But, she didn’t want to be protected and lose him, not to any criminal activity let alone treason. It wouldn’t just be prison. This would mean a traitor’s death. His might be one of those new graves in St. Matthew’s churchyard. The thought was terrifying.

Martin called her name and, setting aside her concerns, Kit twisted her hair into a knot at her nape and rose to follow her husband to the inn’s common room where other guests lingered over breakfast. There a smiling George Weightman served up steaming bowls of his mother’s porridge.

Kit fought back a grimace as Martin exchanged a greeting with his co-conspirator. Then, as the handsome young lad hurried off to answer his mother’s call, Martin leaned in to whisper, “That young man’s quite enamored with you, Kitten. Whenever he looks at you, he reminds me of a lovesick swain. Should I be worried?” He raised a teasing eyebrow, a devilish grin spreading across his face.

“Well, he does have the face of an angel,” Kit said, hoping her husband did not hear the anxiety in her voice. “I’ve sketched him along with others in the village. And he was nice to me when I dined alone.” Wondering if he’d admit their connection she asked, “Do you know him?”

“Only from some encounters with the men of the village. He is one of four brothers, but the others don’t seem to work at the inn. At least, I’ve not seen them about.”

He was too good at this! Encounters with men of the village, indeed. Of course Martin would never tell her he had discussed rebellion against the government with this same young man at the Dog Inn; he would never tell her anything. So, while they finished breakfast, Kit decided it was time to don the stable boy’s clothes Mary had given her. With all the men congregating at the barn, surely no one would notice a single lad. Perhaps she could learn more of their plans if she observed this next meeting.

Martin set down the newspaper George Weightman brought him, one that was shared around the village. “What will you do today, Kitten?”

“I thought perhaps I’d draw some of the cottages—”

“Do not wander far,” he interrupted. “I need to know you’ll be safe and remain close.”

“I cannot go far without a horse,” she said with a smile. “Or did you forget you forbade me to ride without you or John?”

“Stay close is all I ask,” he said with a voice of authority.

“I will.”

She consoled herself that her words weren’t a lie. She’d stay close to the village.