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‘Going my way, my pretty dove?’ a gin-soaked voice asked. ‘See here, Fred, a fresh dolly bird has flown into our nest.’
‘Ain’t never been paid to do this before.’ The innkeeper looked skeptical, but he pocketed the coins that Tristan pushed forwards on the bar.
‘As long as it is done tomorrow morning, I don’t mind.’ Tristan pressed his hands against the bar and leant forward so that he was close to the unshaven jowls of the innkeeper. ‘I always pay my debts, keep my promises and never forget a favour or an injury.’
‘You had that look about you.’ Sweat broke out on the innkeeper’s face. ‘I will do what you ask. And your lady friend, she is your wife, isn’t she? I run a decent establishment.’
Tristan glanced around at the bar where a motley group of farm labourers, card sharps and ladies of the night were arranged. Blue smoke hung in the air. In one corner, a woman warbled a forlorn song. ‘Your opinion and mine may differ as to decent.’
‘Are you saying that I cheat my customers?’ The man wiped his hand across his forehead. ‘I ought to have you thrown out of here.’
‘But you won’t. I paid in advance and far more than that room is worth.’
The innkeeper licked his lips. ‘That you did, that you did, and I don’t say nothing to a paying customer.’
‘It is how I want it.’
A moment of unease about the deception he was playing on Lottie passed over Tristan, but he pushed it away. He was doing what was right. One short sharp shock for Lottie Charlton and their married life would be far happier. It was easier if she learnt lessons now, before it was too late.
Tristan went back to the yard, filled his lungs with clean air and swore. Loud and long. No blonde in a paisley silk afternoon dress, straw bonnet with a satchel by her side. No woman of quality waited there.
Tristan pressed his lips together. He had expected her to be there—spitting fury with her eyes perhaps to be left in the yard on her own, but to be there. He tried to think clearly. Robinson would have obeyed him. He would not have taken her with him. Tristan swore again, wishing he had told Robinson to stop and explain once he had left the yard. A mistake, but one he could not undo.
He had been gone longer than he anticipated, but not that long. She had gone. He had been mistaken.
A hard tight knot came into his throat. He had counted on her being different. He did not think she would have abandoned him so easily, not after the stand she had made at the hotel. He gave one more sweeping glance of the yard. Next time he would remember about the perfidy of women.
‘Lost something, pet?’ an elderly woman crooned to him. ‘A trinket? A pretty little dove? I know where you can find another. Mother Hetts knows everything about little doves, she does.’
‘There was a woman here. A blonde woman, well dressed. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?’
‘Can’t remembering having seen anyone of that description.’ The woman gave a shrug of her thin shoulder and her watery eyes turned crafty. ‘Then my memory ain’t what it used to be. Lots of folks searching for things today. Always asking Mother Hetts if she’s seen this or that. Can’t be expected to remember. It’s market day.’
The old woman gave a cackle, reminding him of a demented hen. The crackle went straight through him. He swung back and advanced towards the woman, whose crackling abruptly ceased.
‘You know something. Where did she go?’ Tristan advanced towards, his hands flexing at his sides, longing for something to hit. ‘Would a coin help to recover that memory of yours?’
‘May do? May not?’ The old woman rocked back and forth. ‘It is amazing what silver coin can do for my memory.’
Tristan reached into his pocket and fished out a shilling, holding it beyond the reach of the woman. ‘The truth. Quickly.’
‘I sent her to the parish constable…if she can find him. Mother Hetts looks after the little doves, she does,’ the woman said, holding her basket in front of her face. ‘She was looking for someone who was missing. Right concerned she was. Nearly in tears. Poor little dove. Are you lost?’
Tristan tossed her the coin. She caught it with expert claws, tested it as Tristan’s insides twisted. He had not considered the possibility that Lottie might wonder about his whereabouts and worry. He had to find her and quickly. There was no telling what trouble she might encounter.
‘Bless and keep you, sir. You are a real gentleman. If you don’t find her, I can always get you another pretty dove.’
Tristan pushed past a cart and horse blocking the entrance to the yard, and went out into the street. His blood pounded in his head.
She had to be there. She could not have gone far. That old crone would not spend for ever in the yard. He must have missed Lottie by a matter of moments.
Only farm labourers, cattle drovers and a few women wrapped in shawls and carrying baskets lined the streets. There was no sign of Lottie’s brightly coloured straw bonnet anywhere.
He fought against the sudden stab of concern.
Lottie had gone looking for him. He would find her more than likely with the parish constable. He would keep her safe. Then they would marry. All would be well.
A woman’s scream rent the air. Tristan raced towards it.
‘Let me go.’ Lottie twisted away from the evil-smelling man and screamed again. Her sleeve tore slightly as she elbowed the man hard in the stomach. His hands loosened as he doubled over in pain.
‘Why did you have to do that? I didn’t mean no harm, did I, Den?’ the rough unshaven man said to his companion.
‘No, Fred, you didn’t,’ the companion said, sticking his hands in his pockets and giving a low whistle.
‘I doubt the truth of that statement.’ Lottie kept her nose in the air; her stomach was in knots as she struggled to breathe. She wished her corset was not so tight, then she would have been able to run, but as it was, she could not draw sufficient air.
If she walked quickly, perhaps she would come to the constable’s box…if it even existed, if the woman had been correct in her directions, something Lottie was beginning to have her doubts about. She should have never gone down this alleyway. She should have never trusted that old woman. She should have stayed in the coaching yard until nightfall and then demanded the constable be brought to her. That would have been the sensible thing to do.
Her slippers resounded on the cobble stones. Only a few more steps and she’d be back in the open. She’d be safe. One more step. Lottie resisted the temptation to turn around and see where the men were. The back of her neck pricked, but she forced her feet to move. They had to let her go.
‘Playing hard to get, me little golden-haired beauty? Thinking yourself all prettified in those togs? Above the likes of me and me pals? Way aye, I have the measure of you.’
Rough hands grabbed her waist again, dragged her back into the alleyway, away from the light, and back into the dark. The scent of alcohol wafted over her. Lottie gagged and kicked backwards. But the man had lifted her off the ground and her slippers only encountered thin air.
‘Not this time.’ He wiped a dirty paw down her face. ‘You won’t get away so lightly, but I likes it when they plays rough, I do.’
‘Let me go, you—you monster!’
‘We will go somewheres quiet. You, me and Den. I knows a good game we can play.’
‘Unhand me this instant or I will call the constable.’ Lottie fought against the hands, saw her handkerchief, reticule and satchel fall to the ground and with them all her money. She gave a little cry of despair. But the arms continued to hold her tight. She kicked backwards and screamed.
‘And what is the constable going to do about it, my pretty?’ His companion laughed. ‘See here, Fred, see if you can wake him from his box. Or is he snoring his head off?’
Lottie’s throat went dry as she prayed for a miracle. She should never have gone off out of the yard. She should have stayed and waited. She whispered a prayer.
‘The lady is with me and not with you.’ Tristan’s voice cut through the man’s banter. ‘Release her. Or I won’t be held be responsible for what happens.’
Lottie froze as hope bubbled up inside her. Tristan. He was here. He had not abandoned her. He had found her. She turned her head towards the sound, hoping against hope that it had not been her imagination. He stood at the entrance to the alley, large and solid, formidable, his lips turned down in a furious expression.
‘Tristan! I am here! Thank God you are all right. I thought something must have happened to you.’ Lottie struggled against the imprisoning hands. ‘Help me.’
‘I said let the lady go.’ Tristan advanced forwards. ‘I am in no mood to repeat myself. No mood at all.’
‘Why should I?’ The man stood there, hands imprisoning her. ‘I caught her first. Prove she’s yours.’
‘In the interests of your long-term health…release her.’ Tristan’s voice was calm and cold as if he were passing the time of the day. ‘A friendly warning, if you like.’
‘How so?’ the man’s companion asked. He advanced towards Tristan, brandishing his fists. ‘Fred found her, plying her trade. You best be about your business, you jumped-up Englishman. I’m a professional boxer, like. My punch is harder than a sledgehammer. Den Casey, Sledgehammer of the North, they calls me. Won five straight.’
A loud thwack resounded in the street as Tristan’s fist connected with the man’s jaw. The man tumbled backwards, lay on the ground. ‘Remind me not to bet on any of your fights, then.’
‘Den down?’ Lottie’s captor looked at his prone companion and back at Tristan. ‘The Hammer is on the ground. Dead to the world. Felled with one punch. I ain’t never seen the like.’
‘Who is next?’ Tristan straightened his stock. ‘I want the lady released. Unharmed. Immediately.’
‘It were only a bit of sport, your worship. We did not mean no harm.’
The hands were withdrawn so suddenly that Lottie stumbled forwards and encountered Tristan’s hard body.
She gasped slightly at the sudden contact, but her feet refused to move as her entire body trembled. Safe. She longed to lay her head against his broad chest. Her knees refused to support her. She clung onto his arm and pushed all thoughts about what might have happened to her had Tristan not come by when he did out of her head.
‘I…I…’ Her throat closed and she found it difficult to speak. She swallowed and tried again, her voice barely audible. ‘I should have stayed at the inn. I went looking for you. I was worried that something might have happened and that was why you didn’t come back. I wanted to get help.’
‘Are you unhurt?’ His arm went about her waist, supporting her. Lottie gave into temptation and rested her head against his shoulder, felt his strength. She closed her eyes and breathed in his crisp, masculine scent. She was safe. He put her away from him and looked her up and down. ‘Have they harmed you?’
‘My…my reticule has vanished.’ Lottie straightened her bonnet and shook out the folds of her gown. She glanced at the rip in her sleeve, winced, but it could be mended. ‘My bag.’
‘Give the lady back her reticule. And her bag,’ Tristan said in the same deadly quiet voice to the man who was standing over his fallen companion, staring at them with fearful eyes.
‘Look what you done to our Den. There ought to be a law.’
‘There is and you are on the wrong side of it.’
‘What you mean? The wrong side?’
‘I have no little doubt the constable will be interested to learn of your whereabouts.’ Tristan held out his hand. ‘The bags. Now. And I might allow you to go.’
There was a shuffling of feet and her satchel was held out. Lottie curled her fingers around it, hugging it to her body. She opened it and saw everything her mother’s maid had packed remained there.
‘And the reticule.’
Much shuffling of feet and the reticule appeared. Lottie gave a small cry of joy.
‘Is everything there, Lottie? Check it.’
Lottie opened it with trembling fingers and gave a little cry of delight. Lord Thorngrafton’s money was there. ‘It is all there. They took nothing.’
‘You see, like I said, your worship, it’s all a big misunderstanding. We was just taking her…’
‘You were not just taking her anywhere. Next time, when a lady protests, you leave her alone. Do you understand me?’
‘We didn’t mean no harm like, your worship.’ The thickset man held up his hands and backed slowly away from Tristan. ‘We didn’t know the lady was with you, like. It was just a bit o’sport. She seemed up for it, like.’
‘I was not! I never!’ Lottie balled her fists. She glanced up into Tristan’s face, but all she saw was cold fury. At her? At the men? She tried to breathe. ‘I would never. I was trying to get to the parish constable’s box.’
‘There ain’t no constable’s box around here.’
‘I asked…the woman said…’ Lottie paused. Tristan had to believe her. ‘I thought something had happened to you. I wanted to make sure you were safe.’
His dark eyes stared at her for a long moment, searching her face, looking for something. The stern planes of his face did not change as he raised a single eyebrow. ‘The lady says you were mistaken.’
‘Maybe.’ The man flushed and ran a finger around the neck of his shirt. ‘Could have been. It were Den that—’
‘Definitely mistaken.’ Tristan’s voice could cut through granite. ‘You owe the lady an apology. The lady is my fiancée and deserves your respect. It is only the fact that it’s my wedding day that puts me in a good mood.’
‘I am…am sorry, your worship.’ The man stumbled backwards, fell over his prone friend and scrambled to stand up again, touching his cap as he did so. ‘I don’t mean no harm like. I, that is we, had no idea. Many happy returns on your marriage.’
‘Off you go.’ Tristan gestured towards the prone figure of Den. ‘Take your friend, he is cluttering up the pavement.’
‘Right you are, your worship.’ The man hoisted his friend on to his shoulder, and began to walk away, complaining loudly as he went that he did not mean any harm and how he was always hard done by.
Lottie’s body began to shake. She wanted to sink down to the ground and weep. Tristan’s arms came around her and held her against his body until the shaking passed.
‘You are safe now, Lottie,’ he said, his breath ruffling her bonnet. ‘I am here.’
‘Yes, you are.’
‘And we are going to be married in a few moments.’
This was not supposed to be what her wedding day was like. She had had it all planned right down to the white silk dress, fashionable bonnet and veil and orange blossoms. Instead she had ended up brawling in an alleyway like a fishwife. She had been taken for a lady of the night.
Lottie moved backwards and Tristan’s hold loosened. She wrapped her arms about her waist and attempted to control the shivers that now racked her body. She did not want to think about what had nearly happened to her. She took a deep breath and regained a small measure of control.
‘Thank you for saving me,’ she said when she trusted her voice would not quaver. ‘Those men had evil intentions. I am sure of it. If you had not—’ Her voice broke and she could only look up at the hard planes of his face, hoping he’d understand what she meant.
‘You are safe with me now. Think no more about them.’
‘I made a mistake. I should never have listened to that old woman’s directions.’ Her voice held a pathetic quiver. She fumbled for her handkerchief, discovered she had lost it. With angry fingers, Lottie brushed away the tears. ‘None of this was supposed to happen.’
He inclined his head, but his dark gaze searched her face. ‘Did those men do anything to you?’
‘They pawed at my dress and my face, but I will live.’ She brushed a speck of dust from her sleeve, a small act, but one that did much to restore her confidence. She would not think about what might have been, but about the future. From now on, it would be the future she faced. And she would refuse to let Tristan leave her again like that. ‘It is most aggravating to be touched in that familiar manner. Most unexpected.’
‘The streets are unsafe for a woman dressed as you are. Gretna Green teems with drunks and ne’er-do-wells today. Far more than I thought possible for such a town.’ His face turned grave. ‘If you had stayed where I told you to, none of this would have happened. Why did you leave the yard? You were safe in the yard. You had no cause to go.’
‘The coach driver went off. I was left alone. I became frightened and tried to find you. I went into the inn, but there was no sign of you. A woman offered to buy my hair.’ A shudder went through Lottie at the memory. ‘I couldn’t stay there. I became worried, certain something had happened to you. I went to find the parish constable.’
‘It took longer than I anticipated to arrange the marriage and our accommodation. I had not thought to be gone so long.’ His fingers curled around hers. He brought them to his lips. Then let go. ‘I regret that.’
Lottie resisted the temptation to put her hand to her face and savour the touch. Was it an apology? She did not want to ask. All she knew was that he had not abandoned her. She hated her earlier thoughts.
‘If you had not come when you did…’ Another shiver convulsed through her.
‘Forget the unpleasantness ever happened. It is over, truly. I swear it and I keep my promises.’ He put his hand on her shoulder and looked at her with an intense expression. ‘Remember that. If I say I will return, I will return. I will protect you.’
‘Do you mean that?’ Lottie asked in shaking voice.
‘As best as I am able.’
‘That is good to know.’
‘And now if you remain willing, the blacksmith awaits.’
‘The blacksmith?’ Lottie tilted her head and tried to quell the sudden butterflies in her stomach. ‘We have no horses that need shoeing.’
‘We have a marriage that needs forging. It is where all the best marriages take place in Gretna Green, or so I am reliably informed.’
‘We are not marrying in a church?’ Lottie regarded her hands. ‘I had always imagined that I would be married in church.’
He shook his head. ‘We are marrying in Gretna Green, under Scottish law. Two witnesses are all the law requires. The blacksmith is waiting for us. All you have to say is that you don’t want to, Lottie, and I will personally put you on a coach back to your mother and Newcastle.’
‘No, I will marry you…even if it is a blacksmith’s shop.’ She drew a deep breath. Her wedding would bear no resemblance to the wedding of her dreams. A blacksmith’s anvil and a torn dress. But it was a better prospect than the future those men had planned for her. ‘Like you, Tristan Dyvelston, I keep my promises.’
He curled his fingers around her gloved hand, raised it to his lips. ‘Thank you for that.’
Lottie allowed her footsteps to match his. She was getting married. It might not be the wedding she dreamt of, but she was determined to be the right sort of wife. She would make him see that she could be helpful. It was the details that counted. She gave one last backward glance to the alleyway and turned her face to the sun. Her footsteps faltered. ‘Tristan, what sort of ring?’
‘The blacksmith will take care of it. He is used to weddings. He informs me that he has already performed two this morning.’
‘You mean it isn’t going to be a gold ring?’
‘Is a gold ring a requirement for a marriage in Scotland?’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Is it ever a requirement?’
Lottie wet her lips and said goodbye to the last of her dreams. ‘I had only wanted to know.’
Chapter Six
Lottie twisted the iron band about her left ring finger, rather than look at her new husband where he stood speaking to the blacksmith. The ceremony had gone quickly, squeezed in between a horseshoeing and mending a plough. Nothing fancy. Simple and ordinary.
Her face burnt from the heat of the fire and her ears rang from the clanging of the hammer against the anvil. A quick brush of his lips against hers. Very correct. Very polite, but nothing more. But she wanted more. She wanted him to kiss her like he meant it, like he wasn’t marrying her simply because he had to, because society forced them. Lottie concentrated on the iron band. Slowly she drew on her glove, hiding the ring, but her hand remained heavy with the unaccustomed weight.
‘Shall we depart, Lottie?’ Tristan said, coming over to her; the blacksmith started striking the anvil with his hammer again. ‘Unless you want to stay and see the horses being shod, there is nothing here for us.’
Lottie shook her head and allowed Tristan to lead her from the shop.
‘So we are married. Forged as it were.’ She gave a small laugh once they had returned to the street. It looked as it had when they had entered the shop—people were still hurrying by, intent on their shopping, the mud still lay in pools. Nothing had changed. No one noticed what had happened to her. ‘I had never thought about it. My friends will be all agog when I write. One only ever hears about going to Gretna Green to get married, and the precise details are never spelt out.’
‘Yes, we are married. The ceremony was perfectly legal.’
‘I never questioned it.’ Lottie glanced quickly up at her new husband. His face was remote and held little of the warmth she had glimpsed last evening. She wondered how she could get it back. If he had looked like that, then she would not have been tempted to make this marriage. She wanted him to smile down at her, to do something to show that this marriage was more than an inconvenience caused by her own indiscretion. ‘We have both been saved from ruin. The marriage will be a nine-day wonder, if that. Undoubtedly someone somewhere will do something worse and it will be forgotten.’
‘I am no stranger to scandal but I had no wish to be outside society for ever. It is not good business.’ His eyes showed no signs of softening. ‘Neither of us had any choice in the matter, Lottie, but we do have a choice about the life we lead. Shall we look to the future, rather than live in what might have been?’
‘The ice-cold wind of disapproval.’ Lottie adjusted her bonnet and ignored the rip in her sleeve that appeared to grow each time she moved her arm. She hated the thought of being dressed like this in public, but there was nothing she could do. She had to hope no one would notice. She moved so her arm was next to Tristan’s, hiding the worst. ‘I need to know, Tristan. Why did you marry me, since you had already experienced society’s disapproval?’
‘Once you ruin a virgin…there is very little way back.’ Tristan ignored her invitation to take her arm and stood staring down at her. His voice did little to restore her confidence.
‘And did you want a way back?’ Lottie asked. She wanted to believe that there was more to this, that he had wanted to marry her.
‘I am no cad. And perhaps I no longer wanted to be an orphan.’ A cold smile touched his lips. ‘Does it matter about the reasons? We are married now, and we will go forwards without scandal. I will lead the sort of life my father had envisioned for me. Upright. Solid. The sort of life I intend to lead now that I have returned to Britain.’
‘You appear to have made a number of promises to your father.’
‘They were all part of the same promise. My father and my uncle were not friends.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘I wanted to torment my uncle.’