He tucked her against his side, felt her warm breath on his shoulder. “Children, North,” she said against his flesh, and then kissed him and then nibbled at him. “Let’s have lots and lots.”
He groaned.
“I was the only child about when I was growing up. I didn’t like it. Sometimes it was lonely. I remember my mother was pregnant two more times, but there weren’t any children. I remember telling my father that I wanted lots of little sisters but he just shook his head and turned away from me. I remember when I was seven years old or perhaps even a bit younger I heard two maids talking about my mother nearly dying with that one and then they just sighed. I hope I’m not like my mother.”
How could she think so coherently in order to speak like this? He wasn’t up to it. He managed to kiss her hair, let her lavender scent fill his senses, then he was snoring lightly, sleeping the sleep of the sated man.
She hugged him to her. North had had a hard day. A man needed his rest. She pictured Mrs. Nora Pelforth in her mind and shuddered. What was going on here?
“What the hell do you mean you hope you’re not like your mother? Of course you’re nothing like your mother, damn you! Don’t talk like that.” He startled her so badly she jerked back away from him. He was up on his elbows, looking down at her angrily, his voice equally angry, but then, in the next instant, he was asleep again and she wondered if he’d ever really been fully awake.
She nestled close again, hugging him tight to her, realizing that she was glad he’d reacted so strongly. Surely that meant he must care for her a little bit, just a little something beyond his man’s lust.
As for her woman’s lust, well, surely that was just a natural part of things. She had uplifting feelings as well about him, warm human feelings, even spiritual feelings, lots of them that weren’t the least bit corporeal, that were pure and wholesome, centering near her heart if not her brain. However, it was odd that these feelings didn’t seem to make themselves known whilst North was making love to her.
She’d rather liked him lying there sprawled on his back, his arms pulled over his head.
25
“ER, MISS? I mean, yer ladyship?”
Caroline looked up from her Nightingale memoirs on King Mark to see Timmy the maid standing in the bedchamber doorway.
“Good afternoon, Timmy. Did you manage to find more lavender for my bath?”
“Er, not yet, miss, I mean, yer ladyship. I thought Mrs. Mayhew would do yer bath fer ye now.”
“I prefer you, Timmy.”
“Thank ye, miss, yer ladyship. I see yer reading something that looks real important.”
“I suppose to his lordship’s male ancestors it was,” she said. “Have you ever heard of King Mark, Timmy?” At his doleful shake of the head, she smiled, and said, “Well, people believe that he ruled Brittany and Cornwall in the middle of the sixth century, surely too long a time ago for anyone to really care. However, it seems that King Mark, who was also called Cunomorus, was betrayed by his wife, Iseult or Isolde, and he was—” She stopped. “It isn’t really all that interesting, actually. What do you want, Timmy?”
“Well now, yer ladyship, I was wunnering if ye’d give me yer popper now that old Mr. Ffalkes be long gone and won’t try to kidnap ye anymore.”
“Ah,” she said, and rose. She quickly forgot about King Mark, his faithless wife, and the possibility that Tristan wasn’t his nephew, but rather his son. She fetched the small pistol, then turned to look thoughtfully at the boy. “You’re sure your father wants this pistol because his is broken?”
“Oh aye, miss, er, yer ladyship.”
“You see, I asked Coombe about your family and he said that your father had several guns, that he also had a blunderbuss the size of a barn.”
“Oh,” Timmy said, and looked down at his feet. “Then about this ’ere King Mark fellow—”
“Coombe also told me that your father isn’t a nice man.”
Timmy’s head whipped up and he looked suddenly fierce, not at all like a little boy. “The bastid drinks until ’is liver is bloated at the taproom in Goonbell, even though Mrs. Freely makes him leave, says she won’t have ’im ripping up ’er inn. Then he staggers home, still drinking his ale, and beats me ma and me sisters. When ’e comes after me, all puffed up and screaming, I jest run back ’ere to Mount Hawke, but me ma and me sisters can’t go nowhere. I got to ’ave that gun, miss, er, yer ladyship. I got to protect ’em.”
Caroline looked briefly at the pocket pistol in her hand. It had belonged to her father. She understood how Timmy felt; she understood the need to act to prove one was alive and capable and not damnably helpless. Her three pregnant ladies all had knives. Miss Mary Patricia even had a small pistol. Caroline’s own knife was in a drawer in the armoire. She said, “You’re right, Timmy. You need this pistol more than I do. Just promise me you’ll be very careful. Don’t shoot your father, do you promise me? If you have to stop him, then shoot over his head, very high over his head. This pistol makes so much noise it would frighten a cow out of its wits. I promise you it would get your father’s attention. If the first shot doesn’t, why then, you fire over his head again, all right?”
“I promise, miss, er, yer ladyship. I don’t want to kill me pa, just scare the guts outta ’im so ’e’ll keep ’is fists in ’is pockets. What do ye mean ye can fire it again?”
“Do you know how to shoot?”
His chest puffed out and he said, “No, I ain’t niver fired a popper afore.”
“Well then, let’s go to the orchard and we’ll practice. I’ll show you how to clean it and load it. First of all, Timmy, this is a double-barreled pistol and it holds two bullets. These are the twin brass barrels here side by side. Keep the brass nice and shiny. This is iron and it’s called a slider and it selects which barrel is connected with the flash pan. Now then, this is the flintlock mechanism…”
When North heard gunfire from the east slope an hour later he felt his hair stiffen on his neck. He broke into a run, and when the land sloped down suddenly, his legs ran faster than he could and he ran into an apple tree. He hung on to the damned tree, breathing hard and looking just beyond to see Caroline and Timmy the maid firing at a bottle some twenty feet distant from them. He heard her say, “That’s right, Timmy, you’ve nearly got it. Hold the pistol very steady—I know it feels heavy, but you must hold it steady—and train your eyes to line up your target with the sights. That’s it. Now, squeeze the trigger, very, very slowly.”