Page 59 of Against the Wind

Every man his skill must try,

He must turn out and not deny;

No bloody soldier must he dread,

He must turn out and fight for bread.

The time is come, you plainly see,

The government opposed must be!

The room was quiet for a few seconds and then erupted with shouts of, “The time has come! The time has come!”

Kit watched in horror. Could they not see what idiocy this was? Soldiers could kill them all! She wanted to cry out their folly but knew they’d never listen to a woman, and certainly not a Frenchman’s wife.

Brandreth raised his hand to silence the men and began once more to speak. “Tomorrow night we’ll gather at Hunt’s barn. From there we’ll march together to Nottingham, where my own men await. Clouds of men from the north will come alongside, and we’ll sweep all before us!”

“What will happen at Nottingham, Captain?” shouted a man from the back of the room, not far from where Kit was hidden.

“There’ll be ale and beef for every man, and a hundred guineas apiece. Over sixteen thousand men will rise there to march with us,” Brandreth promised with obvious confidence. “Oliver has assured me that, by the time we reach Nottingham, London will have fallen into the hands of the new government he is organizing. I’m dispatching young George Weightman here,” he added, gazing at the young man of whom Kit had become so fond, “to check on the men at Nottingham and return with a report for us tomorrow.”

Kit struggled to absorb the gravity of what she heard even as the men shouted, “Hear, hear!” No longer could she deny the purpose the men were pursuing, or their determination, even if it be madness. Though the stuff of dreams, she knew the promise of a hundred guineas would lure many of the villagers to join the insanity. It was an outrageous sum that none would ever see.

She raised her head to peer over a crate, watching as the men gathered around George Weightman, wishing him well on his journey to Nottingham, some even handing him coin for his travel. And that was when Kit saw him. Martin. Sitting on a barrel in a corner of the room, still as a stone, his blue eyes full of fury he stared straight at her.

Without hesitation, heart racing, Kit slid out of her hiding place, ducked out of the room, and ran for the stairs.

She slammed the door to their rooms and pressed her back against it, her heart pounding in her chest. What could she tell him? But before she could gather her thoughts, the door struck her back as it was forced open. She turned and stepped farther into the room.

A furious Martin stalked toward her. She gasped and ran into the bedchamber. The sound of his booted footsteps followed.

“Just what did you think you were doing, Kit?” His expression thunderous, he stood legs spread and hands fisted on hips. Never had she seen him so angry. Backing up, she watched him while desperately trying to think of an explanation he might accept.

Her retreat was stopped by the bed. “I…I just went downstairs when I saw the men pouring into the inn and I was curious to know what they were doing here.” Reminded that her husband had been one of the men, she found herself asking, “And why would you be calmly listening as men urged murder?”

He glanced down for a moment as if reluctant to answer then returned his gaze to her. The fire in those dark blue eyes was only just banked. “You must trust me, Kit. I know what I’m about.”

“Why can’t you tell me what’s going on?” she almost shrieked. His continued refusals drove her mad. She knew of his involvement, of his assumed name, but had no reason for it or what he’d dragged them into. Would he follow that madman Brandreth? She could not believe it of him, not unless there was some other part of him she truly did not know.

“I do not want you involved, Kitten,” he said in a softer tone. “I brought you here for your safety, not to involve you in this mess in the Midlands. The less you know the better. You must promise me to stay in the inn and our rooms for the next few days. Please, promise me.”

“Why do you try and restrict me so? Can you not trust my judgment?”

She saw pain in his eyes as the anger faded. “Recall, Kit, that I was married before.”

“I never knew how your wife died…”

“I lost my first wife in France, years ago on a night when I failed to protect her. I have even wondered many times if she was killed in place of me. I have never forgiven myself, and I don’t want to repeat that mistake.” He closed the distance between them, taking her into his arms. “You are so precious to me.”

“Do you still miss her?” Love her?

“I can’t say I don’t think of her. I do. That I was the cause of her death haunts me—but it is only you I am concerned about now. Only you I love, Kit.” Stepping back and raking a hand through his dark hair, one hand on his hip, he added, “Only you I must protect.”

His words caused her anger to fade. She was precious to him. He was worried about her. He’d said it again: he loved her. How could she not love such a man in return?

He drew her to him, and his lips captured hers in a gentle kiss. But when he raised his head, she came back to a nagging question that still plagued her. She had to know. “Martin, those men are planning a rebellion. Are you a part of it?”

Still holding her he said, “I have a role to play in this, Kit, but it is not what you may suspect. Soon I will explain, but there is no time now. I must return to see what John has learned. Tonight will be critical.”