Page 34 of Barbarous

“Of course, he is not a foolish man.”

“Not foolish, but wistful, perhaps. I daresay reading the exploits of One-Eyed Standish in the newspapers all these years has caused its share of heartburn. He believes it could have been he who lived the life of a carefree, swashbuckling privateer.”

Daphne had no response for that; men were certainly odd creatures.

“The truth is the sultan’s men would have killed him before we even reached Oran rather than doctor him. A slave who could not work was not worth anything.”

“A slave? But I thought you said you avoided being sent to the slave markets?”

He smiled, but there was no humor in it. “My dearest Daphne, I might not have been sold at market, but what else did you suppose I was to the sultan?” He did not wait for an answer. “In a way, Will is right to envy me. I’ve seen wondrous things in my life. A mountain exploding fire in the middle of the ocean, the Great Wall of China at dawn, a flock of coral-colored birds so vast the sky itself was pink.” He shrugged. “I robbed William of those things. But I also robbed him of rowing under the lash of a brutal overseer, of watching friends die from beatings, starvation, cruelty, or neglect, of quarrying stone under the merciless Saharan sun until you could hear your own brain boiling—” He stopped and laughed bitterly. “But what a bore I am.”

Daphne wanted to grab his arm and shake him, to force him to share the wonders—and even the horrors—of his fascinating life.

But a lifetime of reticence won out and all she could say was, “You are not boring me, Hugh.”

His gaze flickered over her at her rare use of his Christian name—as if he heard something else beneath her words—and he continued. “Rather than covet my life, William should have lived his own to the fullest. That is the most important lesson I have learned in almost four decades. Life is fleeting and precious and a man”—he cut her a glance—“or a woman, must seize every opportunity to enjoy it. Never take even one day for granted.” His smile turned self-deprecating. “There you have it, Daphne, the profound philosophy of Hugh Redvers—a man whose careers include hellion, slave, and privateer.”

“And what career is it that you are pursuing now?” She could see her question surprised him, but he recovered quickly.

“Oh, I am on a holiday.”

“A holiday?”

“Yes. I have not returned to stay, only to make a certain peace with my past.” His mouth turned down at the corners and he stared grimly ahead. “I should have done so when my uncle was still alive, I know that, but I was weak-willed and could not make myself come back.”

Daphne did not believe for an instant that was the reason he’d stayed away. “Will you depart on the Ghost when it returns?”

“Hmm?” he asked, turning away from whatever thoughts seemed to be obsessing him.

“You will leave England soon?”

His teasing smile told her his brief moment of confidence was at an end. “Why, Daphne, are you trying to be rid of me—already?”

He spent the rest of the short ride teasing and flirting with her; speaking lots of words, but saying nothing.

* * *

It took them a little over an hour to fully inspect the small cottage and two outbuildings. They were returning to their horses when the sound of angry voices could be heard coming from the small stand of trees behind the cottage.

Hugh held a finger to his pursed lips and motioned for her to stay by the horses. Daphne nodded and he moved quickly, and surprisingly quietly, disappearing behind the corner of the house. A few seconds later there was a female shriek followed by the low rumble of Hugh’s voice. And then nothing. She’d just decided to investigate when two people came around the corner, Hugh right behind them.

“Fowler?” Daphne recalled a moment too late that her former maid had married the man behind her, Owen Blake. Daphne had been surprised and not a little hurt when Fowler had decided to stay at Whitton Park to wed Blake all those years ago. She knew most people believed the rather homely Mary Fowler was fortunate to snare the handsome footman, but Daphne had never trusted the preening Blake. She’d also suspected him of carrying tales to Malcolm.

She hadn’t seen either of the Blakes up close since leaving that wretched house ten years ago; neither had aged well. Mary’s skin was a yellowish gray and a fine webbing of telling red veins spread over her nose and cheeks. Her husband’s once-handsome face was florid and jowly, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. Both servants stood with the tense posture of people who’d been interrupted in the middle of something embarrassing.

Daphne looked from face to face. “Is aught amiss?”

Hugh shrugged, staring at the other two.

Mary Blake dropped a wobbly curtsy. “There’s nothing amiss, my lady. We were looking for Blake’s hound, Sprite. I’m afraid I left the door to the shed open and she got away.”

Daphne could hear the lie in her words. “Lord Ramsay and I have been here over an hour and have not seen her.”

Blake’s eyes swept Daphne in a bold and unfriendly manner. “I’m sure the bitch will make her way home when she is hungry enough.” He turned to his wife. “We’d best be getting back to Whitton Park. My lord.” He nodded at Hugh and took his wife’s arm. Mary Blake shot Daphne an apologetic look over her shoulder as her husband all but dragged her away.

“What in heaven’s name was that all about?” Daphne asked after they’d disappeared.

Hugh lifted her into the saddle and handed her the reins. “They were arguing quite heatedly when I came upon them, but I could not make out the substance of the disagreement. I collect they must live just beyond that stand of trees?”