The Adventurer's Bride

So far he could hear no sound of pursuit, but that did not say he was not being followed. He could make no sense of what had occurred and how Berthe and the other woman had been involved! His mind strayed to that difficult time back in Bruges six weeks ago. After the death of Matilda’s mother in childbirth, Nicholas had let it be known that he desperately needed a wet nurse prepared to travel to England and stay there for a year. The woman his Flemish kin had found him had refused his more-than-generous offer to accompany him to England. He had been so relieved when Berthe had come forwards that he had not bothered with references. She had appeared sensible and trustworthy and in desperate need of help herself.

Her story was that her husband had been killed in a skirmish involving the French and the troops of the Holy Roman Emperor, Charles V. The information she had been able to provide about the movements of the Emperor’s army had been extremely useful. She had been left almost penniless with her own infant to support after her man’s death and soon after her baby son had died. Fortunately she was still producing milk in abundance to be able to give succour to his daughter and she had seemed more than willing to accompany him to the house of Jane Caldwell in England.

Jane! He had to reach Jane.

Was that a light ahead? He pushed back the brim of his hat in the hope of being able to see more clearly and his spirits rose, only to be dashed as the light vanished. He groaned, wondering if he was hallucinating. A wail from the babe that curled next to his heart recalled him to the present and was incentive enough for him to spur the horse on in the hope that he had not imagined that light and that Witney and Jane lay ahead just over the next dip in the white landscape. It would be terrible, indeed, for them to have survived the journey from Flanders, only for them both to perish in this snowy wilderness.

* * *

Jane could bear the waiting no longer. The snow had stopped falling and she had an urge to take a walk along the High Street and see if she could see any sign of their expected guest. She would not go far as it would be unwise to leave the children alone for long, despite Margaret being a sensible girl who knew to keep the younger ones away from the fire and the cooking pot.

She went out in the gloaming and had just walked past the Butter Cross when she saw a rider coming towards her. His hat and clothing were blanketed in snow and the reins lay slack in his grasp. His shoulders drooped and his head had fallen so that his chin appeared to have sunk onto his chest. He drew level with her and would have gone past if she had not realised with a leap of her heart that it was Nicholas; swiftly she seized the horse’s bridle and brought it to a halt.

‘Master Hurst!’ she cried. ‘What has happened to you?’

Nicholas forced his eyes opened and gazed down at the woman dressed in black, who stood looking up at him from concerned brown eyes, and he felt such relief. ‘Jane Caldwell?’ he said, the words slurred. ‘It is you, isn’t it, Jane?’ He reached down a hand and placed it on her shoulder.

‘Indeed, it is,’ she replied, her heart seeming to turn over in her breast when she noticed that his right cheekbone was bruised and swollen. ‘You are hurt. Is it that you came off your horse?’

He shook his head, only to wince. ‘No, I was attacked. The villains would have killed me, but I managed to escape.’

She gasped in horror. ‘I thought your enemies had been dealt with!’

Vaguely he realised that she was referring to those who had attempted to kill him in Oxford last year in an act of revenge. Feeling near to collapse, he muttered something in way of reply.

She realised that now was not the time to discuss the matter. ‘My house is not far away. I will lead you there.’

He smiled wearily. ‘If it had not been for the light, I might have gone astray,’ he said unevenly.

Jane wondered if he meant the one that she had placed in the window upstairs and she rejoiced. ‘A guiding light was James’s idea.’

‘He’s an intelligent lad,’ said Nicholas, forcing the words out.

She nodded, his words pleasing her so much. It was essential that he liked the children and they him. Suddenly she became aware of a bulge beneath his riding coat and that it was moving. At the same time she heard a sound reminiscent of a baby grizzling. ‘What is that noise?’

‘Noise?’ He blinked at her. ‘I have been hearing it for some time and it distresses me. You will help me, Jane?’

‘Of course,’ she replied, puzzled, thinking that possibly he had a small dog hidden beneath his coat. ‘Although I would have thought you’d know there is no need for you to ask such a question.’

‘Perhaps not, but it is good manners to do so. The baby...’ he said.

‘Simon,’ she said, reminding him of her son’s name, concerned that he might have forgotten it.

‘No, it is a girl,’ he muttered.

She looked at him askance. ‘You have a baby girl concealed beneath your coat? How did you come by her?’ Even as she spoke a thought occurred to her and her heart sank.

‘It is a long story and it is much too cold out here to tell it now,’ he gasped, placing an arm beneath the bulge. He gritted his teeth as pain shot through his shoulder with the movement and he felt blood well up from the shoulder wound.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked, her eyes widening with concern.

‘A blade pierced my shoulder. A mere scratch!’ he lied. ‘It is more important that Matilda is fed. I thought with you having your son to nurture that you could give succour to her as well.’

Matilda! Jane’s disturbed brown eyes met his hazel ones. ‘I fear that I must disappoint you. I cannot do what you ask!’

Nicholas looked at her in shocked dismay. ‘Never did I think to hear you speak so, Jane Caldwell!’

‘Do not take on so,’ she cried, hastily seizing the bridle again and hopping to one side so as to avoid the horse’s hooves. Her voice dropped. ‘It brings a flush to my cheeks to speak of such to you, but I have no choice but to refuse your request because I—I...’ She floundered, embarrassed to speak of such a personal matter to a man, yet it was this man who had assisted at the birth of her son. She added in a rushed whisper, ‘My milk has dried up and I cannot feed even Simon. No doubt it is due to the sudden death of my husband and all the extra work involved in selling the house. It has been such a worry thinking about how I am to provide for the children, what with trying to find a weaver willing to work with me—a task which appears to have proved beyond even Master Mortimer’s abilities so far.’ She took a breath, realising she was gabbling to cover her nervousness. ‘Now let us not discuss this matter further right now. We must get you and the child indoors without further ado!’

Mortified and deeply concerned by the mention of Master Mortimer, Nicholas could only stare at her as he swayed in the saddle, clutching his shoulder. ‘I beg your pardon. I have no experience of such matters. Does young Simon still live?’

‘Aye, I have hired the service of a wet nurse who has ample milk,’ she said. ‘I do not doubt Anna will be willing to provide for Ma-Matilda, as well, for a small fee.’

He could not conceal his relief. ‘You will arrange it?’

‘Of course, I would not have any child starve.’ She wasted no more time in talk, but swept before him like the galleon he had likened her to when first he saw her, leaving him to follow on his horse.

He swore inwardly, deeply regretting the faux pas he had made, and, summoning his remaining strength, told the horse to walk on. He had no idea if there was stabling at this present house of hers. If not, then he would have to find the nearest inn and stable the beast there.

As soon as Nicholas saw the house, which was at the end of a row of terraced dwellings constructed of the local stone, he realised that the knocks he had received had done more than make him dizzy, they had caused him to momentarily forget that Jane’s husband had left his financial affairs in a mess. Hence her reason for moving to Witney to a much smaller house than the one he had visited in Oxford. There was no way she would have been able to afford the luxury of her own stabling even if she owned a horse.

She suggested that he ride his mount to the back of the house where there was a garden and leave the horse there for now. ‘I will send for Matt, the son of the wet nurse, and he can stable it for you at the Blue Boar Inn.’

As he was feeling extremely weary, Nicholas agreed. He dismounted with difficulty, glad that there was no one there to see him narrowly avoid falling flat on his face. He stumbled to his feet and struggled with the straps of the saddlebags, pain stabbing through his shoulder and down his side and arm like a skewer. At last he managed to complete his task and, not having the strength to throw the saddlebags over his uninjured shoulder, carried them dangling from his left hand towards the rear door of the house.

Fortunately it was unlocked and he pressed down on the latch and entered the building. He found himself in a darkened room and almost fell over the loom that was there, narrowly avoiding bumping into a spinning wheel and several baskets on the floor. Before he could climb the two steps that led to an inner door, it was flung wide from the other side and Jane stood there, holding a candlestick that provided a circle of warm light.

‘This way,’ she said.

He thanked her and entered the main chamber of the house. Instantly the two girls and the boy who were waiting there rushed over to him. He dropped the saddlebags.

‘You’ve come, you’ve come,’ cried Elizabeth, hugging as far as she could reach of his waist whilst James’s small arms wrapped around one of his legs and Margaret stood close by, beaming up at him.

He had never expected such an enthusiastic welcome, although he remembered the children being friendly enough at their first meeting last year. He had been told to tell them stories and had done his best. He thought how different this greeting was from that of his elder brother Christopher’s sons and daughter, whom he scarcely knew. They were inclined to be tongue-tied in his company, as if overcome by his presence. He felt tears prick his eyes. If it had not been for Jane ordering the children to allow Master Hurst to warm himself by the fire, he might have been completely unmanned.

She set a chair close to the fire and bade him be seated. On unsteady legs he crossed the floor, hesitating by the cradle to gaze down at the child sleeping there.

‘He has grown,’ he murmured.

‘What did you expect? He is more than four months old now,’ said Jane, her face softening.

Without lifting his head, he said, ‘I will never forget seeing him born. It was a happening completely outside my experience.’

‘That was obvious,’ she said unsteadily.

He looked up, caught her eye and she blushed.

They continued to stare at each other, both remembering the forced intimacy of Simon’s birth at a time when they were only newly acquainted.

He recalled her cursing him and his rushing to carry out her commands, fearing she might die before the midwife arrived. She had called him a lackwit when he had not reacted fast enough, for Simon’s birth had been imminent. When the boy’s head had appeared, the ground had appeared to rock beneath Nicholas’s feet and he had thought he would swoon. Fortunately her unexpectedly calm voice had recalled him to his responsibility towards both mother and child. He had once seen a calf born and although that experience was definitely different he had managed to react in a way that met Jane’s approval.

As for Jane, she was thinking that it was probably best that they had never met before the day of Simon’s birth, otherwise she would never have had the nerve to order him around the way she had done. Hearsay was not the same as actually meeting someone face-to-face. Of course, she had known more about Nicholas than he did of her, yet setting eyes on a real live hero was a very different matter from one who lived in the pages of a book and somehow seemed larger than life.

Chapter Two

Jane dropped her gaze and Nicholas forced himself to cross the remaining distance to the fire, wondering afresh what madness had caused him to unburden himself that day of Simon’s birth and speak of Louise. He should have kept his mouth shut because it was obvious to him that Jane might find it difficult to accept Louise’s daughter in the circumstances. Why had he not considered that as a possibility? Was it because Jane had so impressed him with that maternal side of her nature? He could only pray that his daughter would be able to win her heart as those children in her charge had won his with the warmth of their welcome.

He sank thankfully into a chair. The children followed and stationed themselves with a girl on either side of him whilst James leaned against his knee and fired a question at him.

Jane listened to them talking as she removed her gloves and coat with trembling hands and hung the latter on a peg. She took a deep breath to calm herself, wondering how badly he was wounded and thinking of the baby concealed beneath his doublet. Had that woman rejected her daughter or was Louise dead?

Jane took another deep breath and walked briskly over to the group by the fire. ‘This will not do,’ she said firmly. ‘Margaret, you will go to Anna’s house and tell her I have immediate need of her. If Matt is there, ask him to come, as well. Elizabeth, you will set bowls and spoons on the table, as well as drinking vessels. James, you will watch the fire and let me know if it needs more wood.’

‘And what will you do, Mama?’ asked the boy.

Her face softened as she gazed down at him. ‘Master Hurst has been wounded and I must tend him.’

The children’s eyes rounded. ‘Has he been on one of his adventures and had to fight the natives?’ asked Elizabeth.

A low chuckle issued from Nicholas’s throat, followed by the words ‘Not exactly.’ He fumbled with the fastening on his coat. ‘Although I was attacked on my way here.’

The children gasped. ‘Did you manage to kill one of them with your sword?’ asked James.

‘Hush now! Do not bother Master Hurst with such questions.’ Jane shooed away the children and went to his aid. As she undid the fastenings on the sodden garment and set it to dry on a three-legged stool in front of the fire, she noticed a slit in the material. It was sticky and she realised that was where the blade must have penetrated the fabric and the stickiness was blood. She felt slightly faint and for a moment could not move. He could have so easily been killed! The thought frightened her.

‘My daughter, Jane,’ he reminded her in a gruff voice.

She gazed down at his bulging doublet, feeling quite peculiar, almost envious of the child that lay beneath the padded russet broadcloth so close to his heart. What had happened to her mother? Jane’s eyes went to his face and for a moment their questioning gazes locked. Then he closed his eyes and she realised that he was exhausted and she would have to wait for an answer.

She willed her fingers to remain steady as she removed the girdle about his waist that held his short sword and a pouch. She set them aside and began to undo the fastenings on his doublet. The squashed nose of a baby appeared and then the rest of her face. By my Lady, she is pretty, thought Jane, a catch in her throat. She touched the child’s petal-soft skin with the back of her hand and realised it was not as cold as she feared it might be.

Then she remembered what Nicholas had told her about the child’s beautiful mother and struggled with a surge of emotion, thinking again of Louise and resenting the relationship she had shared with this man.

The tiny mouth opened and fastened on the side of Jane’s hand and began to suck. She was strangely moved despite knowing in her heart of hearts that she had no desire to give shelter to this child of Louise’s.

‘It is a wonder you did not suffocate her,’ said Jane roughly, undoing the rest of the doublet to enable her to remove the baby, who was dressed in swaddling bands.

She found herself being surveyed by a pair of hazel eyes that were flecked with green and gold, the same as Nicholas’s. She told herself that she should be relieved that the little girl had her father’s eyes, but her feelings were too confused to feel so. Was that because she wanted to think the worst of Louise, believing that she had lied to Nicholas about the child she carried? Yet as the baby began to cry, Jane’s maternal instincts surfaced and she rocked Matilda in her arms.

Nicholas gazed at them both from beneath drooping eyelids. ‘I imagined the pair of you looking as you do now,’ he croaked.

‘Really,’ said Jane coolly. ‘Is that why you are here, simply because you thought I could take care of your daughter? I had thought better of you, Master Hurst. You disappoint me.’

Nicholas shifted in the chair and a spasm of pain caused him to place a hand on his wounded shoulder. ‘You misjudge me, Mistress Caldwell! I hired a wet nurse for my daughter in Bruges. I came here to confirm the vows Pip made for me by proxy to be Simon’s godfather and for no other reason.’

Was he speaking the truth? Disappointed though she was, Jane decided she had to give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘Forgive me! For a moment I forgot that you had promised to be Simon’s godfather,’ she said humbly. ‘What happened to the wet nurse?’

‘I deem Berthe must have betrayed me,’ he said bitterly. ‘She was in league with those men who attacked me. As I made my escape I heard her and another woman crying out, “Stop him. He’s got the child. Stop him!”’

Jane’s head jerked up. ‘Why should she do such a thing? Do you think she was put up to it by the child’s mother?’

Nicholas sighed, removed his sodden felt hat and fingered where his head hurt. ‘Louise is dead,’ he said heavily. ‘Matilda has no mother.’

Jane could only stare at him. ‘I see. I didn’t know Louise had died,’ she said slowly.

‘Why should you? It isn’t easy to get a message to someone from abroad, especially during the winter months. Even my brothers were unaware of it. When I visited Christopher, he told me to my face that he considered me a fool for taking responsibility for Matilda.’ Nicholas turned the hat between his hands restlessly and then dropped it on the floor and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. ‘Louise died a couple of days after the birth and she wanted me to have Matilda. I had already decided on that course of action after seeing at close hand what can happen when a daughter is fobbed off as another man’s or placed with relatives who have no love for it. That was why I went in search of Louise.’

Before Jane could respond, there was a sound at the front door and Margaret entered with a homely-looking woman wearing a cloak over a brown gown. She stared at Nicholas with a lively curiosity in her large round eyes. ‘So you’re the famous explorer,’ she said. ‘I’ve been hearing about you off and on for the past few weeks.’ She folded her arms across her ample bosom. ‘About time you arrived—they’ve all been on pins in this house, thinking you mightn’t get here in time for Our Lady’s day.’ She paused for breath.

‘Where is Matt?’ asked Jane swiftly.

‘He will be here soon,’ replied Anna and continued with her former dialogue with Nicholas. ‘And now you have come, what’s this I hear about you not only being attacked but that you’ve brought a babe with you that needs suckling?’

Jane said hastily, ‘Dear Anna, do not be bothering Master Hurst about such matters now. He is wounded and exhausted and much concerned for his daughter. Here, take the child! I will see that you are paid later.’ She thrust Matilda at the wet nurse without waiting to see Nicholas’s reaction to the woman who was temporarily to act as mother to his daughter. No doubt the news of Nicholas’s arrival would soon be all over Witney. Anna’s husband was the local baker and as much of a gossip as his wife. Would the information be spread abroad beyond the town and reach not only the men who had tried to kill him, but also the women who appeared to want the child? It was a puzzle to her.

From a chest Jane took a couple of handfuls of linen bindings and wrapped them in a drying cloth before tucking them under Anna’s arm. She wasted no time in seeing the wet nurse out. Then she picked up a candlestick and brought it over to where Nicholas was seated, thinking she would need more light if she was to attend to his wound.

‘I hope my actions meet with your approval where your daughter is concerned,’ she said briskly. ‘Do not mind Anna’s tongue. She has a warm heart and, for now, abundant milk. I can reassure you that she is clean and extremely fond of babies, otherwise I would not trust Simon to her.’

‘I will take your word for it,’ he said, attempting a smile despite his exhaustion.

‘I have known her for years,’ said Jane, bending over him. ‘We were girls together when I lived here in Witney with my parents and brother.’ She paused. ‘Now shall we remove your doublet so I can take a look at your wound? Did those ruffians rob you at all?’

‘No, they did not get the opportunity.’ His dark reddish-gold brows knit. ‘Although, perhaps I should have not been so trusting of Berthe. My coin pouch was of late within easy reach of her fingers.’

Jane glanced at the girdle she had laid to one side earlier and crossed to where she had placed it. She picked it up and handed it to him. ‘Do you wish to count the coin?’

He weighed the pouch in his hand. ‘It is a little lighter than I remember and I did not feel a thing. Fortunately I soon learnt whilst on my travels that it is always wise to have another stash of money concealed somewhere else.’

‘You don’t think she knew where that was?’ asked Jane, wondering how he had come by this wet nurse who was obviously untrustworthy.

‘No,’ he said confidently.

Jane was glad of that, for she had little coin to spare to pay Anna extra and for any other expenses Nicholas’s sojourn here in Witney might involve. She wondered how long he would stay now there was the worry of the attack on him to take into account. She gnawed on the inside of her cheek as she continued with the task of removing his doublet without causing him too much pain.

Once rid of the garment she was able to see more clearly that his fine woollen shirt was more bloodstained than the doublet and that it was unravelling. Obviously the weapon’s blade had caught a thread and snapped it. Her heart was in her mouth as she attempted to separate the patch of shirt that was stuck to the wound, for she could feel the tension within him. She decided that it was best if she dampened the fabric and fortunately that did the trick. At last she managed to ease the fabric away to reveal the gash in his flesh into which bits of wool and dirt had been forced. By then he was breathing heavily and his face had changed colour. As for her, the inside of her cheek was raw from chewing on it.

She whispered an apology as she removed the shirt. Now his chest was completely exposed, she could see the scars he had incurred from previous encounters with foes. She felt an unexpected urge not only to wrap her arms around him, but to scold him.

‘How many times have you come close to death?’ she muttered, straightening up with his shirt clenched in her hand. ‘I know of some of your adventures, but not that you had been injured so often.’

‘I survived and that is all that matters,’ he growled.

‘Hopefully you will survive this latest attack on you,’ she said tautly before hurrying over to a shelf and removing a bottle of wine from it.

‘Can I help, Mama?’ asked Elizabeth, hovering about her.

‘Fetch me some linen bindings from the chest and another clean rag,’ said Jane.

The girl did so and received further orders concerning the supper this time. She went about her tasks as Jane gave Nicholas all her attention once more.

‘Do you have any brandy?’ he asked in a strained voice, watching her uncork the wine and pour some into a small bowl.