“To host a house party apparently,” said Helena. “The first and best of the summer, according to Miss Snow. I think perhaps she has elicited some talk in London, carrying on with the duke yet refusing to commit to a future. The season is not yet over and they’ve fled here. She mentioned she is now in the company of a chaperone.”
“God bless that poor woman,” mumbled Declan.
Helena snorted. “Indeed. But they were alone together when they called. They’d ridden to Castle Wood to clip apple blossoms for a bower she hopes to construct for her party. I told her she may return as often as she likes.”
Declan nodded and they walked from the cover of trees to a sunny clearing.
Helena said, “They invited us to be guests at the party.”
“Ah,” said Declan, glancing at her. He hadn’t managed to shake his fear that Helena would eventually regret her life as Mrs. Shaw, Mercenary’s Wife. If she’d married a gentleman, house parties would be a matter of course. He’d rather return to battle than attend a house party at a nobleman’s estate. “And what did you tell her?”
Helena laughed. “Ah, ‘No, thank you,’ is what I said. Naturally. I vowed never to repeat another society function after that horrifying game of Mirror-Mirror.”
Declan released a breath. They came to the stump of a tree that Declan had chopped down on his last visit home. The tree was dead and threatened to fall during winter storms, blocking the bridle path. He’d left the stump, a convenient stool in the secluded haven in the wood.
In the six months since they’d been married, Declan had enjoyed some extended visits home—a week or two—while other visits were only a handful of days. His clients required different levels of security or surveillance, and he felt compelled to take every high-paying job that came along.
He settled now on the stump and reached for his wife, pulling her to him. He missed her so much when he was away, far more than he’d expected; in fact, he missed her more than seemed sustainable. He wanted to behere, with her, always.
Before he met Helena, he’d thought taking a wife would interrupt his soldiering. He’d not been prepared for soldiering to get in the way of his marriage. He wanted out of mercenary work. He wanted out of travel. He wanted to be home. But how could he say this? Helena had made no demands on his schedule or the travel. She was sad when he left and overjoyed when he returned, but she did not complain. In fact, she looked after his father in his absence and had taken a gentle guiding hand with his sisters. She was busy with her orchard and the crofters. She was working to rebuild a relationship with her own sisters and parents.
She was the perfect mercenary’s wife, but Declan could only think:I simply want the wife. Not to be the mercenary.
Again, he wasn’t sure how to say the words. He already struggled with the nature of his job—gritty, and common, and sometimes violent—and how this impacted his lady wife. But to resign and have no job at all? To retreat to theforest and chop down trees and do her bidding? He saw the irony: it was almost like returning to work as her groom. It felt uninspired and lazy. There was plenty of work to do, but he would provide nothing to their living.
Girdleston had paid him a fraction of their agreed fee for minding Helena, but it had been enough to set him up in his old life. He’d bought his horse and outfitted himself to work as a mercenary. He’d hired a wagon and workmen to relocate his father to Castle Wood and renovate the gamekeeper’s cottage. Whatever was left, he’d given Helena and then set out to work as hard and as fast as he could for the richest clients.
The money he earned would keep them all comfortable for the rest of the year, and Helena promised very big profits from her harvest in the autumn.
After that? Declan couldn’t say.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, leaning against him. Idly, she ran her fingers through his hair.
“Nothing,” he lied, nuzzling against her breast. “I am drinking you in. Oh, how I’ve missed you.”
She dropped her face against his hair. “I spend my days thinking, ‘I wonder what he is doing right now?’ I think about you a hundred times a day, at least. We all miss you, but I understand that your work is important. I want you to be happy.”
“I . . . I would be happy here, I think,” he said. The words came out in a rush. “If that is something we might . . . consider.”
Helena hesitated, her hands going still in his hair. Declan listened to her heartbeat against his ear.
After a moment, she said, “The duke did say one more thing. When he was here.”
The duke?Declan thought, confused. He grabbed handfuls of her skirt and pulled her closer to him. “What did the duke say?”
“He said his new foreman believes the forest in this county would be well served by hiring...” she took a deep breath, “...a sheriff.”
Declan looked up. “A sheriff? Like the sheriff of Nottingham?”
“Well, like any county sheriff, I assume. As duke, Lusk is ultimately responsible for the county, and I suppose he has the power to install things like sheriffs and vicars and constables and magistrates. Apparently, at the moment, he requires a sheriff. He mentioned something about highwaymen on the New Road and stolen chickens. Poaching on his land. He wondered if you would be interested in the job.”
Her voice was light and casual, but Declan could hear hope—a very tense, very cautious hope. He squeezed her more tightly, and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
Declan tried to think of conflicts or barriers but his brain leapt to the very great potential of the offer. He would be here, with Helena, with his family. He could use his experience and skill to patrol the forest, to protect, to deescalate violence, and investigate crime.
He could work without leaving his wife.
“But was Lusk serious?” Declan asked. Now his heart pounded in time with hers. He smoothed his hands down the backs of her legs. When he reached the hem of her skirt, he delved beneath, massaging her calves.
