“’Tis late. I will see you to your chamber.” As they passed Quinn, Christian paused. “Seek your bed and guard the lady in the morn.”
At the door to her chamber, he opened his mouth then closed it.
“I wish…”
“Don’t. Wishing doesn’t change anything.”
He nodded and turned to go.
“I never had regrets until I met you,” she whispered as she closed the door behind her.
It wasn’t until she was in bed that she realized she’d nevergotten an answer. She pulled the covers up under her chin and thought about it. Why hadn’t Christian explained why he thought his brothers could help her? Had they met someone else like her? She planned to find out tomorrow. Because there was no way she was sticking around while the guy she was in love with married someone else. Until she could get home, she would hide her feelings and pretend they were friends.
Was she really in love? She never had been, so maybe this was just a remnant of him saving her. She’d heard about women falling for cops or firefighters who rescued them. This was the same.
Wasn’t it?
CHAPTER 18
“Walter,did you see to it Mistress Ashley is in her chamber?”
His guard nodded. “She is, my lord and I sent Quinn to seek his bed.” With torches lit, they made their way down the stairs through the hidden room of the cellar to the old passageway that led to the river.
“The passageway has been cleared. All is prepared.”
Ulrich turned and nodded. The torches cast light on the damp stone. The sound of water running down the walls, and the sense of someone watching him, made Christian uneasy. His guard looked tense, and then Morien stepped forward, the man moving without making a sound. It was unnerving.
“Thornton.”
Christian nodded. “Are we ready?”
The smuggler inclined his head, and his men filled the passageway. Walter led them deep into the cellar to the hidden room where they had stored the wool Christian had held back from selling this summer, in anticipation of such a venture.
The smuggler crossed his arms across his chest, his face half hidden in shadow as he eyed his men scurrying to and fro.
“What would ye have done if we had not met?” Morien pointed to a bundle of wool as it passed through the passageway and was loaded onto the barge.
“I would’ve sold it next summer at Westminster, as I have always done.”
Ulrich returned, his steps echoing in the passageway.
“I have had a word with the rest of the guards. They believe you will not be able to keep this secret from the rest here at Winterforth for long. A few have been asking questions.”
“Soon enough, we will swear all of Winterforth to secrecy. They will understand what is at risk.”
The smuggler’s men were quick, and the wool was loaded onto the barge. Christian stayed, watching as they pushed away, making no sound. He turned to his men.
“’Twas a good night. The gold from this partnership will see Winterforth and its inhabitants through the winter and spring.”
Christian had one last task to complete before sleep would be his. A widow in the village did not have money to bury her husband, nor food to feed her children. He dressed in a pair of old hose and tunic, clasped a black cloak around his shoulders, and rode out on the black horse.
The stable boys were used to him riding out at night, as were his guards; the men at the gate greeted him with a soft “my lord,” raising the gate only enough for him to pass under. His hood up, he rode for the village, turning back, searching for one window. ’Twas dark, Ashley was asleep.
He had heard what she did not mean him to. Regret. Aye, he understood it well, for he felt the same. What could he do? Not call off the betrothal; it would impugn his cousin’s honor and his own. Nay, he must keep to his commitment and marry the girl, though he wished for the first time that the girl would run, as the others had before her, leaving him free to woo and marry Ashley.
The village was quiet, all asleep, as he rode through the streets. While he knew one of his guards could have seen to the task,Christian needed to do this himself. ’Twas his responsibility to care for all those not only at Winterforth, but in the villages as well.
The home where the widow lived was dark, and no smoke rose from inside, so likely she could not afford to keep a fire going day and night. The horse tied to the post, he lifted the latch on the door, placing the bundle inside on the floor. In the morn, she would find food and enough gold, enough to pay not only for the funeral but to feed her children. Enough until he found her a place in a household doing laundry or cleaning. She would labor and her children would no longer go hungry. Perchance she would marry again and have more babes.
