At last, on the sixth day, the Americans left York and the ships sailed southwards across the lake. When the townsfolk were sure they had gone they came to look at the ruins of the fort. Debris, some of it huge rocks, lay all around, and they heard that many of the soldiers, including an American general, had been killed when the magazine blew up.
Flora was silent as they drove out of the town. This, wanton death and destruction, was the result of war. She prayed for her children, her friends they'd left on the farms, Malcolm who was involved in similar battles, probably somewhere in Spain, and all the men involved in the fighting.
Atonsa had elected to come with them. 'I go find Tier,' he said calmly. 'I cannot follow army. Too far from my tribe. We can fight in west, where fewer soldiers and longer frontier.'
The first hint of trouble came when they left the main track and turned down the side one leading through their own land.
Jamie hauled on the reins and stopped the waggon. He hitched the reins and swung himself to the ground.
'Flora, stay here,' he ordered.
She had been looking out of the back to try and catch a glimpse of the other cabins, set back from the track. She was anxious to get to her children as soon as possible.
'What is it?' she demanded, coming swiftly to the front and looking out. Before he could reply she saw one of the mares, grazing on the new grass in the middle of what was intended as one of their hayfields. A few yards further off another horse, one of the yearling fillies, she thought, was standing with head raised, looking towards the waggon.
Jamie walked quietly forwards. Flora waited, careful not to frighten or disturb them. She could see now that neither wore the light headcollars Jamie always insisted were left on. Had Brendan's brother disobeyed him, and more importantly, let them escape?
The mare was nervous. As soon as she saw Jamie she lifted her head, and then moved away. When he halted she did not stop, but began to trot clumsily towards the forest. The yearling, kicking up her heels, took off at a gallop and was soon invisible amongst the trees. Jamie waited, and after a while the mare stopped, but she stood poised to flee at his slightest movement.
'I go behind her, she not catch my scent,' Atonsa said quietly, and slid out of the back. Flora opened her mouth to protest, but he had vanished. Search the surroundings as much as she could, she saw no sign, no movement of the bushes or the grass.
Jamie stood still, and Flora found herself holding her breath. The mare seemed reassured, and dropped her head again to nibble the grass. It seemed hours to Flora, no movement from Jamie, no sign of Atonsa, and only the occasional step of the mare as she wandered slowly onwards to find more succulent blades of fresh spring grass.
Then, apparently out of the ground, Atonsa appeared a few feet away from the mare. Before she even sensed his presence, he was grasping her mane, moving slowly in front of her, and standing utterly still, his nose nuzzling hers. Then he tugged on the mane, and she began to walk beside him, placid and obedient.
Jamie waited until they were out of sight, then he came and climbed back on the waggon.
'It's magic!' he said, with a slight laugh. 'But it won't be as easy to catch the youngster. She'll be miles away by now.'
'How did they escape from the paddocks?' Flora asked. 'They would have been in different paddocks, too, we kept them separate.'
'That is something we'll find out soon. The fences could have broken, but what's more worrying is that someone took off the headcollars.'
'Let's go and see,' Flora urged, impatient to discover the worst, but Jamie shook his head.
'Give Atonsa plenty of time to walk her back. Without a collar or halter she could easily pull away from him if she's startled.'
At last he set the waggon in motion, and they went on. Flora's heart sank lower and lower as she saw the deserted paddocks. Some of the fences were torn down, and not a single horse was visible. They drew up outside the cabin to see Atonsa emerging from the barn where the mares were stabled.
'It looks bad,' he said quietly.
'Are there any at all in the stables?' Jamie demanded.
'Only that one.'
Swiftly Jamie ran to check on the stallion's barn, while Flora made for the cabin. She was standing in the doorway when Jamie came up to her.
'They've been here,' she whispered. 'All the furniture's been moved, the beds are disturbed, and there are dirty plates.'
She moved to look more closely. The food on the plates was congealed hard, and the fire was cold. It could have been many hours since anyone had been in the cabin. Then she saw the figure of the soldier she had made for Matthew, which he played with all the time, lying under the table. She bent to pick it up, and found a deep slash across the neck. The small pieces of cloth she had used for stuffing were falling out. Blinking hard, terrified of her thoughts, she held it out for Jamie to see.
'Come, we'll go straight to Bruce's, ask if they know what's happened,' he said.
It was quicker to walk. Atonsa offered to unhitch the waggon and attend to the horse, and Flora hurried off, almost running in her anxiety to reach her children. Jamie caught up with her and held her hand as they went.
To her enormous relief she saw them playing outside the cabin with Meg, Bella, and Isabella's youngest.
Meg looked up and waved. 'Where have you been? We expected you back days since.'
'Never mind that. Is everyone all right? Where's Patrick O'Brien?'
'Patrick? I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. He brought up some milk, said he couldn't drink any more, and didn't know how to make butter or cheese. Isn't he there?'
'No, and neither are the horses. Meg, they've all gone! Have you any idea what's been happening?'
***
No one had seen or heard anything unusual. Jamie and Flora went back to their own cabin, having felt it safer to leave the children with Bruce's family until they knew more. Atonsa met them, coming out of the end of the barn where the last of the previous year's hay was stored.
'Is Patrick short, dark man, bright blue eyes?' he asked.
Jamie nodded. 'Is he in there?'
He and Flora moved towards it, but Atonsa stepped in front of them. 'Not go in, Miss Flora. Not pretty.'
She waited, occupying herself with building a fire. They needed a hot drink. When Jamie came back he sat down on the bench and put his head in his hands.
'He's dead?'
'Yes. Butchered. Poor fellow. It looks as though he was trying to prevent them, whoever they were, from stealing the horses.'
'Where's Atonsa?'
'He says he can track them. He's looking now for signs.'
'Jamie, no!'
'What do you mean?'
'It's not safe to go after murdering brutes! You don't know how many there are. You could be murdered too!'
'We can't go today, it's too late. But if Atonsa can discover the direction we can follow tomorrow. If we don't get them back we'll have lost all our work, have to start again from nothing.'
Flora stared at him, then straightened her shoulders. 'We have one mare and her foal, God willing, and a cabin and barns and fences. We still have a great deal. We can start again if we have to.'
He looked at her for a long, silent moment, and she closed her eyes for fear he saw the pain in them. She was not at all sure she could continue if she had did not have his love.
'It would be better to recover what we've lost. They won't have gone far if they're driving all the mares. Some of them must be ready to drop the foals at any moment.'
'But what will you do? They'll see you.'
He laughed grimly. 'Atonsa can move silently, and he's already taught me a great deal. He suggests we ask Hamish to come too. He spent time with the Indians, when he met Mary. We won't challenge them if they outnumber us.'
Nothing she could say would change his mind. Atonsa returned soon after dusk, and gratefully accepted the grilled trout Flora had prepared, once she had a good fire going.
'Well?'
'Two only. They camp two hours away. We start daybreak, easily catch them. They trying take all mares, delays them.'
'I'll ride now to ask Hamish,' Jamie said, and was gone almost before he'd finished speaking.
Flora had been restoring the cabin to normal, and soon after Jamie left she crept into bed. Atonsa rolled himself into a blanket and occupied the spare palliasse near the fire. When Jamie returned he slid into bed beside Flora, and she wanted more than anything to curl up against him, feel his arms round her, and draw comfort from him.
Jamie shook her awake at dawn.
'Come, Flora, I mean to take you to Bruce's before we leave. You mustn't remain here alone.'
She shivered. 'But there's work to do. The cow needs milking. If Patrick was killed the day before yesterday, he wouldn't have milked her that night or yesterday morning. She'll be desperate. Or did you do it last night? I was too shocked to even think about her.'
'The cow has wandered away. Or been taken, though Atonsa says he saw no tracks. You can't do anything.'
'You must eat first.'
The fire was soon stoked with fresh wood, and she served the porridge which had been left to cook overnight, while she fried some slices of bacon in the skillet. There was no time for oatcakes. The men ate swiftly, anxious to be gone, and she was given no time to do more than bank down the fire before they hurried her to the safety of Bruce's house.
She spent an hour with Isabella and Meg, telling them about the invasion of York, and fretting. Ought she to go and tell Brendan about his brother? He wouldn't know. Then Meg looked up from where she was playing with the children and exclaimed in surprise.
'Andrew! I thought you were with the army.'
Andrew, wearing a rather dirty red army coat, was mounted on a small bay pony. His legs were so long they almost touched the ground.
'I'm on my way to York, with despatches,' he said.
'But, the army have left York,' Flora said. 'I don't suppose the news will have reached you yet.' She explained, and Andrew sighed. 'Then I suppose I'll have to ride further. They'll have fallen back on Kingston, no doubt. Where's Jamie, Flora? I need to speak to him.'
At that moment they heard from the direction of the lake the mournful lowing of a cow, and Flora started up eagerly.
'That must be our cow! Jamie? Oh, someone let our horses out, he's trying to find them. I must go and see to her, she'll be so full of milk, poor thing.'
'I'll come and help,' Andrew said, and began to walk beside her.
Flora stopped abruptly. 'No, thank you, Andrew. Jamie probably won't be back for hours, so you'd far better ride straight for York.'
He looked at her, then turned away. 'I'm sorry, Flora. I see you don't trust me, and I can't really blame you. I was mad that time. But I understand. I'll leave you alone.'
He climbed onto the pony's back and with a wave to Meg set off. Flora followed him slowly to the main track, and watched as he rode out of sight. Then another plaintive call from the cow sent her hurrying along the track to their cabin.
The cow was standing by the door of her barn, her udders monstrously disgorged. Flora found a halter and tied her in the usual place, then fetched a bucket and stool and sat down. She crooned a Scottish tune which seemed to soothe the animal as she rhythmically drew down the milk.
When she was finished she picked up the bucket, frothing with warm, creamy milk, and turned to take it across to the cabin. As she came out of the barn strong hands seized her arms, pulling them with cruel force behind her back. The bucket fell to the ground, splashing milk all over her feet and those of her captor, who uttered a furious oath as he pushed her towards the cabin.
Flora opened her mouth to scream, but a hand was clamped over it.
'Don't try. No one will hear you, and it will only be worse for you if you don't do as I say.'
It was Andrew. She understood what had happened. He'd only pretended to leave, and had doubled back. Furiously she began to think as he hustled her towards the cabin. Jamie would be gone for hours, and unless Meg or someone came to see why she was taking so long to milk the cow, there was no hope of rescue. She had to find a way of escape by herself.
He thrust her into the cabin and closed the door, then as he released her he pushed her across the room so that she stumbled against the table.
Flora swung round to face him, more angry than afraid. 'Have you come to try and rape me again?' she demanded.
He laughed. 'If only I had time, my sweet. But I don't have time for pleasuring you. I want those jewels your damned husband stole from me.'
Flora stared at him in utter amazement. 'He stole them from you? Are you crazy? You stole them, on the ship, from me! And Jamie won them back fairly! Which is more than you deserved.'
As she spoke she was edging towards the table near the fire, where she prepared their food. If only she could grab the big, sharp knife she used for skinning the rabbits and other furry animals, she might hold him off and escape through the door.
He saw her intention and sprang forward. She lunged for the knife, but he pushed her and sent her sprawling. As she fell she hit the side of her face on one of the logs stacked ready to feed the fire, and felt a trickle of blood start from just beside her eye, and run slowly down her face. At least it wasn't her eye, she thought at the back of her mind, but mainly she was boiling with fury, at him for his treatment of her, at herself for having been too slow to reach the knife.
'Get up,' Andrew ordered. 'I'm hungry. You can cook me a meal.'
Slowly she struggled to her feet, fighting down her anger. It would do no good for him to sense it. If he did, he would enjoy his power over her even more. He strolled negligently to sit on a bench, all the while playing with the knife, twisting it round his fingers. She had no illusions that he would hesitate to use it if she tried to escape. She would have to pretend, and maybe there would be a chance later on. At least she seemed to be in no immediate danger if she obeyed him.
'What do you want?' she said sharply. 'There's some porridge left, or I'll do some bacon. That's all I have.'
He glanced at the side of bacon hanging in the corner. 'I don't think I want to see you with a knife, cutting that,' he said with a laugh. 'Give me the porridge, and while I'm eating that you can get me the jewels.'
She swung the cauldron over the fire, and as she stirred the porridge looked consideringly at it.
'Where are they?'
The quietly spoken words came from just behind her shoulder. Andrew had risen silently and was standing within inches of her. She shivered. How could she ever have been attracted to him, permitted his kisses to move her at all? Now all she felt was revulsion. It was stronger, even, than fear. If she thought it would free her of him she might give him the jewels, but she knew he would not be satisfied with them.
'Did you steal the horses too?'
'Forget the horses. They're more trouble than they're worth. I came for the jewels, but as you weren't here, and Eliza told me you were gallivanting in York, I knew you'd have them with you. We may keep the stallion, but we took the horses to entice your man away from you. Where do you keep them?'
'In a safe place,' she replied coldly. 'You killed Patrick, then. Is that what the army's taught you, to kill and thieve?'
'I'm done with the army. I'll have those jewels and go back to Quebec. I might even go to England. Where are they? Tell me if you don't want to be hurt.'
'Find them yourself.'
He turned away. 'Very well. If you won't tell me, I'll do that. I'm not leaving without them.'
First he threw everything out of the chest, scattering the clothes she had stored there until winter was over. She forced herself to remain silent as he tossed her light muslin gowns onto the floor, trampling carelessly on them as he moved to the cupboard where other things were stored. He found the trinket box at the back of one shelf and gave a crow of triumph.
'Not so well hidden,' he said, grinning at her as he came back to the table and tipped out the contents. Then his smile faded, and in disgust he swept the bead necklaces onto the floor.
'Where are they, you bitch?'
She ignored him, and in fury he attacked the palliasses, ripping the sacking covers with the knife and pulling out the straw. Suddenly he began to sneeze as the straw dust flew up into his face. He groped his way to the table and sat down on the bench, coughing and sneezing, but still holding the knife towards her as he fought to regain control.
'Here's your porridge,' Flora said calmly, fighting back her own urge to cough. She carried a bowl to the table, then lifted the heavy cauldron and took it across too.
'There's too little to spoon out,' she explained, tipping the cauldron on its side. He moved slightly, and she gave a little shriek.
'Oh, look, there's a rat!'
Momentarily he was distracted, and Flora lifted the cauldron and jammed it down on his head, completely covering his face. Hot porridge flowed over his shoulders, and he screamed in agony, dropping the knife as he tried to lift the cauldron away from his face. A spot of the hot porridge fell on Flora's hand and she winced in sympathy, but hung grimly on to the handle, pulling it down with all her strength as she stretched out for the knife.
With a gasp of triumph she reached it, and pressed the point into his neck.
'If you let me tie your hands I'll take it off,' she said calmly.
He went on struggling, and she suddenly realised he would not be able to hear her. She giggled, slightly hysterical, and wondered how she could possibly tie him up with one hand while she threatened him with the knife. She'd have to make him believe she would kill him.
Forcing herself to do it, she moved the knife to a fleshier part of his neck, where it joined his shoulder. She had no wish to really kill him, but a small wound might keep him quiet for long enough.
She pressed the point into his flesh, trembling slightly as it bit, and the blood began to ooze out. Andrew went rigid, and stopped struggling. She dared not move away, but he had himself provided her with the means of tying him up. She reached for the gowns he had tossed to the floor, and pulled a muslin one towards her. A pity, it had been one of her favourites.
She twisted it into a sort of rope, and holding the knife pressed into place with her shoulder against the hilt, dragged Andrew's hands together behind his back. He was moaning softly now, and offered little resistance. Guiltily she knew the hot porridge must be causing him agonies, but she was determined he was not going to win again.
She had to let go the knife while she pulled the improvised rope tight and tied it, but by now Andrew was incapable of fast movement. With another gown she tied his feet to the legs of the bench, and then, at last, pulled the cauldron from his head. It was a struggle, and he screeched to her not to pull his ears off as well.
'You slut!' he spat at her as soon as his mouth was free of porridge.
'If you abuse me I'll go away and leave you here,' she threatened.
He was silent. His face was red from the heat, and porridge matted his hair and dripped onto his shoulders, mingling with the blood from the knife wound. She surveyed him calmly, then went to fill a bowl with some of the cold water in the bucket beneath the cooking table.
He flinched and swore as she cleaned the mess off his face. The skin was already blistering in places, but she knew the cold water would sooth some of the pain.
'I have herbs here which will help,' she told him curtly as she reached for her medicine box, kept on a high shelf near the chimney.
Flora unrolled some linen and selected some dried leaves. As she replaced the roll in the box she patted the thicker roll beneath it. Her pearls were safe there.
She was smoothing a balm onto his face when the door behind her swung open.
Startled, at once apprehensive it might be another enemy, she swung round.
'What the devil's that fellow doing here with you?' Jamie demanded.
***
They'd borrowed Brendan's small waggon. Andrew, more securely tied with ropes, was put unceremoniously on the floor of it, with his companion, brought in by Jamie. Patrick's body, decently shrouded with one of Flora's best sheets, lay beside them.
'I'll stop just for his mother to bid him farewell,' Hamish said wearily. 'It will go hard with her.'
'Will there be magistrates in York?' Flora asked. She did not wish to think of Andrew's likely fate.
'Only the army retreated, from what you said. I'd best be off if I'm to reach there tonight.'
After he'd gone, with Brendan sitting up beside him, driving his horse, Flora began to tidy the cabin.
'Will Atonsa be able to manage all the horses by himself?' she asked.
'Yes, don't worry about him. Leave that,' Jamie said. 'We must talk.'
'But we have no beds until I can put some of this straw back.'
'Later. I cannot go on with this.'
He kicked some straw into a corner and spread an old plaid over it, then led her to it and made her sit down.
'Poor Eliza,' she whispered, burying her head in his shoulder. 'She'll be so heartbroken. Do you think, if we'd given him old Stewart's croft, he'd have been less bitter?'
'We can't be held to blame for how he's turned out. He'd still have lost it, and though it might have made some difference, he's always been inclined to violence. But I'm more concerned about us. I was so proud of you when I came back, afraid of what I might find, for the other fellow told us his intentions. Atonsa urged me to come straight back, but you had it all under control.'
Flora chuckled slightly. 'It was the only way I could think of, to hinder him. He looked so foolish. But I don't think he'll be too scarred. The porridge wasn't boiling.'
'Where he'll be, scars won't matter,' Jamie said soberly. 'I was so jealous that first moment I saw you with him, until I saw he was bound.'
'Jealous? But why?' Flora raised her head and looked at him, frowning slightly. 'You can't be jealous of someone you don't love.'
'Don't love?' he exclaimed. 'Oh, my sweet, if only you knew! I love you so much it hurts! I've worked so hard these past two years because it was the only way I could prevent myself from thinking of how much I loved you, and missed you.'
'But you never said! And you were so cold, you even stopped kissing me!' Flora said, puzzled. 'You can't know how unhappy I've been these past two years, longing for you, not knowing why you were so cold.'
'But don't you see, a kiss leads to more, and if I'd allowed myself just one kiss, I knew it wouldn't stop there!'
'Why should it stop?' she asked quietly.
He groaned, and took both hands in his, stroking the backs of them with his thumbs. 'You had such a difficult time giving birth to Matthew! How could I put you through that again? Next time, I might lose you. It was unbearable, I couldn't face that. So I had to create a distance between us. I thought it would make little difference, if I could stay calm.'
'You've tried not to touch me, all this time, just because of that?' Flora said, aghast. 'Matthew's birth was unusual! Most babies come head first!'
'But you were so sickly carrying him, too.'
The sensations his touch was creating through her entire body made it difficult to think coherently. Flora did her best. 'Sometimes, I believe, women carry differently when they are bearing male children. It was a difficult time, losing my home, those dreadful conditions on the ship, and then – then losing Rosie. Here, if I knew you loved me, I'd be happy, and well.'
'Eliza warned me that another child might kill you.'
Flora stared at him in amazement, then wrenched her hands away and scrambled to her feet.
'Eliza told you that? Told you to stop treating me as a wife?' she almost shouted as she strode up and down, kicking the scattered clothes out of the way. 'How dare she interfere! And how dare you obey her without even asking me what I wanted?'
'I knew you would ignore your own health, the risk of having another child, for me. It had to be my decision. I couldn't bear risking losing you,' he said, rising to intercept her. She tried to push him away but he captured her hands again and pulled her close to his body. 'Flora, my heart, will you forgive me?'
Still fuming, but unable to free herself from his arms, which clamped her tightly to him, a thought struck her and she became still.
'Eliza. She knew Andrew wanted me. He's always been her favourite. She might have thought all his other girls were just distractions. But even she couldn't be so wicked, surely, as to try and ruin our marriage?'
'I don't care about the past,' he said quietly. 'I'm interested in the future. A future with you, loving you. Will you forgive me?' he repeated.
'How can I forgive a love so great you'd deny yourself for my sake?' she whispered, clinging to him. 'Oh Jamie, I've been so unhappy, imagining all sorts of things, especially when Arabella was near.'
'Arabella?' he asked. 'That was over the moment I saw you.'
'I can believe that now,' she said, knowing at last it was true. She reached up and kissed him full on the lips, and he shuddered, pulling her even closer to him.
'It's perhaps as well the children are still with Jane,' he said unsteadily. 'We must build that new bigger house as soon as possible. Oh, Flora, my love! I'll spend the rest of my days working to prove I love you.'
'What about the nights?' she asked, grinning up at him. 'I insist you leave enough energy to start proving your love then, too.'
Laughing, he pulled her back onto the pile of straw. 'Then you don't want me to waste time with a proper bed?'
She shook her head. 'No, my love. I've missed you so much. Please, don't let's have any misunderstandings in future. I love you, Jamie, with all my heart.'
She went gladly to the makeshift bed. Long into the night they rediscovered one another, talking occasionally, but glorying in their new happiness. At last, falling asleep in his arms, Flora knew she had come to her rightful home.
Marina Oliver has written over 60 novels, and has converted most of them to ebooks. Others have been or are being published as ebooks by other publishers.
For the latest information please see Marina's web site:
Now read an extract from another ebook about making a home in a new country:
Originally published as Forbidden Love by Donna Hunt, Minstrel.
They were in the church, a small, ill-lit place where the tombs of the dead overawed the living, before Bella awoke from the daze that had held her unresisting for the past two days. She shook her head slightly to clear her mind as they left the chill sunlight of the early April day and entered the dank cold of the stone building. Her companion, interpreting the gesture as a refusal, tightened his grip on her arm and hustled her onwards.
'Oh, no, you don't! It's too late now to draw back. You made your choice and must abide by it. Edward is waiting for you, and an anxious bridegroom he is.'
'Choice?' Bella queried scornfully, her spirits quickly reviving. 'You call it a choice that you gave me?'
'It's more than most would have done, to have provided you with a dowry and a husband, when you have no claim on me,' the man replied with a short laugh. 'You and the brat were lucky not to have been turned out into the streets to beg for a living.'
'Where is he? Where is Toby?' she demanded.
'Awaiting you, as I promised, with old Alice to take care of him. You can spend the night at the inn before boarding the ship tomorrow. A comfortable bed in an inn is preferable to a ship's bunk for a wedding night.'
'You are a fiend, Henry Martin!' she replied, and relapsed into silence as she glanced round the church.
There were two candles on the altar, and some indistinct shapes of men nearby. Bella clutched her cloak round her as she was pushed forward, and scanned their faces anxiously as soon as she was able to distinguish their features. There were three men, but she ignored the parson, a pale, thin figure who coughed apologetically and began speaking in a low voice to Henry Martin. The second of the waiting men was small and elderly, with a straggling grey beard and creased face. He stooped forward, his shoulders were rounded, and he plucked nervously at an elaborate lace collar with gnarled and twisted fingers. Surely even Henry would not have agreed to a marriage with such as he, Bella thought, and turned to the third man who must be the one she was here to wed.
What she saw in his hot, hungry glance made her wish fervently that it was greybeard after all who was to be her bridegroom. The man was tall and broad, with a jutting chin and square face. A long scar crossed his dark-skinned cheek, leaving a thin white line that dragged the left corner of his mouth up slightly. Deep clefts between the nose and the corners of his mouth gave him a cruel, perpetually sneering expression. His bold dark eyes raked her from head to foot in a manner which caused her to flush angrily. She felt as though she were stripped naked before him, and suddenly angry, she threw up her head and gave him back stare for stare. He laughed delightedly and turned to Henry Martin.
'You spoke the truth, my friend. A beauty, as far as I can see. If her form matches her face I shall be well-pleased. Well, Master Parson, be about your business. I can scarce wait for your permission to bed my wife.'
Bella gasped in fury, the parson twittered in dismay, and Henry Martin laughed, pushing Bella forwards so that she stumbled and fell against her bridegroom. He made no move to assist her, and it was only by clutching at his doublet that she saved herself from sprawling ignominiously on the ground at his feet.
'Patience, my love,' he scoffed. 'There are some formalities with Master Parson before you can show me your aptitude on your back. You did not inform me how hot she was,' he added, turning to Henry, who smiled grimly but did not answer.
Suddenly Bella realized what she was doing. Her world had suddenly collapsed, she was on the verge of a new life, and yet she had had so little choice in it!
She had always accepted that she would marry where her parents chose, but she had trusted them to select a man she could love. When her mother had died and then her father, her thoughts had been far from marriage. And then the other disaster had overtaken her. It had been on the day of her father's burial.
'Henry Martin wants to speak to you. I've told him it's not fitting, but he won't go away,' Alice, one of the maids who had lost her own baby and become her young brother's wet nurse two years earlier, announced disapprovingly.
Before Bella could answer Henry Martin had forced his way into the parlour where she sat. Thrusting Alice aside he came to stand menacingly before Bella.
'What do you want?' she asked, puzzled at his behaviour, for he normally avoided her company.
His position was a strange one. Bella's father openly recognized him as a bastard son, and he had never attempted to presume on the relationship. Now, however, he appeared aggressive and determined.
'What is mine by rights!' Henry replied. 'Look at these.'
He thrust some papers into her hands, and Bella, puzzled, glanced at them.
'All these years I've had to bear the stigma of bastardy. Men have laughed at me behind my back - they dared not to my face. All to protect you and your damned brother. Well, it's over now. These papers show that my mother was wed to my father, but she left him, and she's still alive. It's you and the squalling brat who are the bastards. And I am the rightful heir!'
Bella had tried not to believe this incredible revelation. How could her gentle, courteous father have married her own beautiful, loving mother if he had a previous wife still living? But Henry Martin had brought lawyers from London who had told her that the papers he possessed undoubtedly proved him legitimate, and as such her father's heir instead of her brother Toby.
Shattered by this calamity so soon after the death of her father Bella had been threatened with destitution. For herself she did not care knowing that she, young and strong, could soon begin to earn her bread. It was another matter for her brother Toby. Henry threatened to place him in a foundlings' home where if he survived the rigours of such a life he would become a labourer or be sent to sea. There was no way that Bella could earn for them both, keeping Toby with her.
It was when Bella had finally admitted the reality of this desperate plight that Henry had offered her an alternative.
'I've a friend bound for Virginia. He wants a wife. He'll take the brat too. But you'd best decide now, he leaves England in a few days.'
*