Chapter Fourteen

Lady Stanton and her two friends, Lucy Kellington and Francis Wickley, meandered toward them. All three wore their hair in curls piled high on their heads and were wrapped in cloaks, fur encircling their necks. Nathaniel glanced at Cat. Was she warm enough in her cloak? She didn’t shiver.

He turned back to the trio of ladies. If Cat had heard correctly last night while she hid in the hallway behind the now nose-less bust of Queen Mary I, Esther hadn’t wanted Cat to come to the Frost Fair. Why?

“Lady Stanton,” he said and bowed his head in greeting. “Lady Kellington. Lady Wickley.”

Esther looked only to Cat. “Those little strays run rampant about London. Best watch your purse, else you will lose it.”

Cat had turned to watch Mouse run back to the packed tent where she’d tried to pick her pocket. “’Tis a shame they must suffer here,” she said next to him.

Esther laughed, a haughty flippant laugh, reminding him just how far removed she was from the suffering of the poor. “Let me guess,” Esther said, studying Cat. “You take in stray pets up there in the wilds of Scotland, too.”

Lady Wickley held a gloved hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. “Barn cats and rowdy little dogs. Maybe even a nest of squirrels,” she said, adding to Esther’s quickly painted picture.

Cat’s gaze slid back to Esther. Hell. Would he have to carry her away to save Esther’s life? “Absolutely,” Cat said, smiling back. “Lots of strays. I have a pack of wolves following me, a wild cat or two, and several fierce hens who likely think I am their mother. I have a protective nature, especially when it comes to stray children and animals.” She narrowed her eyes. “I become rather fierce and dangerous when confronted.”

Nathaniel almost smiled at the dumbfounded look on the ladies’ faces. Cat raised her hand, resting it on his chest. The contact was light, but the message she was sending was clear. She was stating in terms that Esther would not miss, that she was at the Frost Fair with him. Despite living alone in Killin, Cat was catching on to the subtle signals given at court.

“In fact,” she continued. “Nathaniel can attest to witnessing how I killed a wild boar with a shot from my bow and skewered a villain with his own blade.” With a dip of her hand, Cat withdrew the dagger from her pocket. Even though she kept a modest smile, the slight narrowing of her lovely, almond-shaped eyes warned him that she was close to war.

While the other two ladies stared wide-eyed at the blade, Esther’s smile had dropped into a frown. Lips hitched back from her perfect teeth, the lady looked almost feral as her gaze moved between them. Blast. Was it the use of his given name or the familiar touch of Cat’s hand on his chest that piqued the temper out of Esther Stanton? It was as if the so-called genteel lady teetered on the edge of unreason, and she had no idea the mortal jeopardy in which she would find herself if she attacked Cat Campbell.

Nathaniel cleared his throat. “We were about to have tea.” He paused, but manners required an invitation. “It is quite crowded, but you are all welcome to join us.”

After a long moment of silence, Lady Kellington spoke up. “We are going skating,” she said, lifting her hand to show a pair of blades with straps for attaching to boots. “They have smoothed away the snow and chunks of ice from a spot beyond the tents.”

A sly smile returned to Esther. He had always thought her pretty, a polished lady that his father often said would be the perfect addition to the Worthington family. Having recently been ordered shot by another elite member of the English court, Nathaniel had learned that his peers often wore masks. Lady Stanton likely possessed many in her political retinue, and he had no desire to uncover the lady beneath.

“I doubt Lady Campbell has ever tried the exercise,” Esther said. “The blades have just recently come from the Dutch masters. It requires much balance and vigorous health and grace.”

“I think Lady Campbell should give it a try,” Lady Kellington said. “It is right good fun.”

Nathaniel looked at Cat who still seemed to be watching the tea tent for the child. She turned her face back to the ladies. “I am always up for right good fun,” she said, her accent imitating Lady Kellington’s with incredible precision.

Lady Kellington smiled with genuine humor. “This way to find you some blades to borrow.” She came forward and took her arm, tugging her toward two blue tents that stood open on the side facing the smoothed ice. “Come along, Lady Wickley. Let us show Lady Campbell how to cut across the ice.”

Before she could take two steps away, Esther looped her arm through Nathaniel’s. Luckily, Cat didn’t turn around as the other two ladies flanked her on their walk.

“Honestly, Nathaniel,” Esther said softly. “To think, you poor man, that you must escort that country girl around London. She will be an embarrassment when she meets the king and queen. Maybe she will threaten to stab the king like the boar and villain and be thrown in the Tower.”

“Lady Campbell has a good grasp on polite manners,” he answered. Except when being accosted. They trailed behind her and the other two ladies. Esther dragged her pace, growing the distance between them. He watched Cat’s straight spine, the cascade of red curls that twisted in a weaving of braids that nearly reached her hips. “My sisters have been teaching the local ladies about art, music, reading…” And how to fling a blade through the air and kick a man in the ballocks. “She is well versed in all the lessons given at the school.”

“How are your sisters?” Esther asked, a layer of pity in her tone. “There are rumors of treason and barbarians up there in the wilds.”

“I believe they are fond of the adventure and clean air, not to mention, their new husbands.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “I heard,” she said as if it was a juicy bit of gossip. “Imagine, wedding oneself to an ignorant, penniless, wild man. I mean, I could see Scarlet falling for the dirty, brutish type, but not your dignified sister, Evelyn. Really, what was she thinking?”

The more the woman talked, the more Nathaniel wanted to escape. Esther hadn’t been so cruel and judgmental before. Had she? Perhaps seeing his sisters so happily wed to men that their father would find highly unsuitable had opened his eyes to the so-called refined lady on his arm.

“I believe they fell in love,” he said. “Is it so hard to imagine falling in love with a penniless man?”

She tittered a bit, touching his arm. “I have not the faintest idea, Nathaniel, as we are both sitting upon family fortune.” Pointing toward the smooth ice, she tugged on his arm, finally walking quicker. “Oh look. They have the blades strapped to your charge. Let us see how she fares.”

Stopping next to benches, which had been set up for the spectators, Nathaniel was finally able to disengage her hand on his arm. Cat was sliding out onto the smooth ice with Lucy and Francis on either side of her. Lucy glided forward, while Francis held her arms out as if she were afraid that she’d fall.

“Do you suppose she will make it across without disgracing herself?” Esther said. “She certainly does not seem to have the elegance associated with a lady.”

He looked down at her. “Where are your skates, Lady Stanton? Shall I fetch some for you.”

She waved her hand. “My ankles are much too delicate to risk twisting them.”

He looked back out, his brow tensing. Had Cat’s ankle healed enough for the sport? “I should go see if they need assistance.”

“Do not bother,” Esther called, but he’d already left her side. The smoothed ice was much slicker than the snow-dusted surface. Keeping his balance, he stepped, one after another, his gaze on the back of Cat. Francis flailed her arms and fell. Cat turned then, and her smile relaxed the tightness across his shoulders. She reached down to help Francis up.

“There now,” he heard Cat say. “Bend your knees more, and instead of steps, try to glide.” With those words, she let go of Francis and pushed off, her one leg out behind her, lifting her skirts as she slid across the field of ice. He stopped to watch.

Cat took several gliding steps, propelling herself in a large circle. Fluid and full of grace, her arms came out to the sides like wings, gently falling up and down as she laughed. She caught up to Lady Kellington, skating circles around her before turning to slide amongst the other skaters. Two men watched and clapped when she managed a little spin, which made her skirts bell outward. She nodded to them, her gaze sliding along the edge of the smoothed field. It stopped on Nathaniel. With a dozen pushes of her skates, she glided to him, stopping suddenly by turning in a tight circle.

“You skate…well,” he said simply, a smile on his mouth.

“I do.” A little puff of a laugh tumbled out with her words. “There is not a lot to do when ye live alone in the winter.” She glanced around to where Esther likely pouted. “She thought I would fall on my face, didn’t she?”

“I think that was part of her plan,” he said without looking.

“Perhaps I should skate by and entreat her to come out with us,” Cat said and pushed off in her direction.

“Cat,” Nathaniel called. “Lady Campbell.” The only reply he got was Cat’s laughter.

…

Cat flew across the ice. It was much smoother than the ponds near Killin since the festival organizers had scraped it. Sitting like an ice princess herself, Lady Esther Stanton spoke to someone next to her. Cat squinted until she noticed the red scarf wrapped around the girl’s neck. Mouse? Had the girl found trouble with Lady Stanton?

Glancing toward Cat, Esther whispered something else to Mouse, and the girl slid away on the ice in her dirty shoes. An odd kind of smile sat on Esther’s lips, as if she tired of holding it when she’d rather snarl.

When she’d nearly reached the benches, Cat called to her. “Why don’t ye join us?” She turned in a tight circle to stop before the tight-lipped woman.

“My ankles are delicate.” Esther indicated Cat’s feet. “I do not have the thick, muscular ankles needed for the sport.”

“’Tis too bad,” she said, holding her arms out. “It feels so good to fly across the ice.”

Esther tipped her nose higher. “A lady does not fly unless on horseback.” She met Cat’s gaze again. “I hear you have tried it with clumsy, disastrous results.”

The woman’s thick condescension piqued at the knot that she kept on her temper. Where had she learned of Cat’s fall? Jane Pitney surely wouldn’t have said anything. Esther’s father perhaps, or one of the men witnessing their arrival at Hollings. Nathaniel wouldn’t have told about her ungraceful fall, and Dr. Witherspoon didn’t even know Lady Stanton.

Esther’s gaze shifted past Cat to where Nathaniel stood speaking with two gentlemen. “He will not wed you, Lady Campbell,” she said, stressing the title. Her eyes shifted back to stare at Cat. “You are bright enough to know that, are you not?”

She had no designs on marrying anyone, but the haughty woman practically sneered with derision, making Cat itch to pull a dagger on her. “Do you read minds and hearts as well as you sneak about Whitehall corridors at night?” Perhaps she would think that Nathaniel had told her about seeing Esther in the gallery.

Esther’s eyes narrowed, but then she stared out across the smoothed ice. “It is stated in his father’s will that he must marry a refined lady from a powerful family or else he will lose his inheritance.” She looked back at Cat, her gaze traveling from the top of her head, where Cat could feel curls tugging in the wind, to the bottom of her boots strapped to the blades. “Are you a refined lady from a powerful family, Cat Campbell?” She let a smile slide across her lips. “I think not.”

His father’s will? Nathaniel hadn’t explained the requirements of being Viscount Worthington, just that he must act the part. A blush rose up her neck to heat her cheeks. He’d told her that he couldn’t wed her, and she had said that it didn’t matter, that she still wanted him to bed her. Did he plan to wed Esther to keep the Worthington fortune? Did he think that Cat would stay with him as his mistress?

“Oh my,” Esther said, standing. She held a slender, gloved hand over her eyes to shield the glare of the muted sun. “Is that your little stray?”

“Where?” she turned to look out across the smoothed ice. At the edge of the river on the far side, someone splashed in the freezing water, someone with a flash of red about their neck and yellow reaching up toward the sky in desperation.

“A child just fell into the water,” Esther said. “I think it was your stray little waif.” She laughed then, the sound breaking through Cat’s temper like a sledgehammer. “Perhaps she will get a little cleaner if she does not drown.”

“Duin do ghob, strapaid,” she yelled and reached down beside the bench where several coils of rope sat, perhaps for just such an emergency. She pushed off across the ice, lifting her skirts high so her legs could pump. Had Mouse tried to leave and not wanted to break the shilling to buy a safe passage across the planks? Nathaniel’s red scarf lay about her head as she clawed with both hands toward the edge of ice. Cat blew past the sign that marked the end of the safe zone, and the rougher ice slowed her glide.

“Cat! Stop!” She heard Nathaniel’s deep voice behind her, but Esther’s words and her elitist laugh about the poor orphaned girl drove her on, her strong legs pushing past the pain in her newly mended ankle.

Mouse’s face turned toward her, eyes wide, mouth thrown open as she panted, trying to swim with the sodden layers of clothes weighing her down. Under Cat, the ice made a snapping sound. Damn all these heavy layers she was forced to wear. If she’d just been in her trousers, she’d be ten pounds lighter. Slowing, she unfastened the cloak at her throat and let it drop with her muffler. They probably added five pounds on their own.

“Cat, stop,” Nathaniel called, nearly catching her. “The ice will break.”

“It is the girl,” she yelled without looking back.

“Bloody, foking hell, Cat,” he cursed. “Throw me the end of the rope,” he said, making her remember that she held the length.

Turning, she swung one end toward him and noticed that a crowd had gathered behind the warning sign. Francis Whitley and Lucy Kellington stared, wide-eyed, Lucy holding a hand to her mouth. Nathaniel picked up the end from where he stood well past the warning sign, nearly to her abandoned cloak.

Gooseflesh rose up her spine as the wind penetrated to touch the dampness of her exertion along her back and limbs. “Tie the end around your waist,” Nathaniel yelled, his stern voice full of demand. Commanding and not forthcoming about his father’s will, his voice sent ire through her, and she grasped for the emotion. For anger fed her strength; it always had.

Cat looped the rope around the stiffness of her stays cinching her waist and fashioned a knot, the same one that would tighten around her when pulled. A noose.

“Lay on your stomach,” a man yelled from the crowd. “Disperse your weight.”

He was right, and she lowered, nearing the edge where Mouse clawed at the breaking ice, trying to swim toward her. “I am going to get ye,” she yelled at the girl, her gaze meeting Mouse’s wild eyes full of panic.

“It is…too…cold,” Mouse said. The muted light gave a blue cast to her face.

Cat inched closer, wiggling on her stomach, the many layers of her petticoats catching along the rough ice. She heard small rips as some lace caught and tore. “This way. Come closer.” It was a wonder the child was even above water. “Kick,” she called.

Crack. The ice made a splintering noise behind her, and the crowd gasped. “Fool,” someone yelled. “Do not follow her, else you will sink the both of you.” She glanced over her shoulder to see Nathaniel belly-down on the ice as if to follow her, but he’d stopped with the cracking ice.

Cat reached the edge, her fingers numb as she grabbed the thick yellow bandage on the girl’s hand. With shallow breaths, she pulled her legs up under her to get better leverage, her fingers clutching Mouse, working her grasp up the girl’s arm. Large brown eyes locked onto hers. “I’ve got ye,” Cat said. Churning wildly with her legs, not ready to die, Mouse propelled herself up toward Cat. Cat grabbed her around the middle. “Pull the bloody rope,” she yelled, her arms wrapping Mouse’s waist, the icy water soaking through her stomacher, stays, and smock.

The rope tugged about her waist with such force that she flipped backward away from the hole, the girl still in her arms. A spike of pain shot through Cat’s head, as if a dagger had skewered her brain.

“Cat! No!”

The cracking of ice cut through Nathaniel’s words. Freezing water soaked through her layers as the sound of the crowd grew dim. Sard it all. She’d hit her head again. The thought spiraled inward until all that was left was ice and black swirling water.

…

“Pull!” Nathaniel yelled, throwing the end of rope that he held to a cluster of gentlemen he knew from court. Lord Wallace Danby, a tall man with some muscle, grabbed the end and quickly organized the onlookers to pull as the ladies stood aside, handkerchiefs to mouths. Esther Stanton stood with Francis and Lucy.

The wet girl lay with her head on Cat’s chest. She seemed dazed, trembling against her savior. The men pulled, with Wallace Danby yelling out the command, and little by little Cat’s body was dragged across the ice, a faint trail of blood smeared as she slid over it.

“Someone yank that dirty girl off Lady Campbell,” Francis Whitley called. “’Twas her folly that brought the lady to this.”

“No,” Nathaniel said, anger mixing with worry within him. “The girl needs to be warmed too.” He watched Cat draw closer, her beautiful amber curls caught upon the rough surface of the Thames. Her pale face lay open to the sky as if she stargazed, the sweet freckles starker in contrast. He reached out, catching under her arms to slide her close to him, the small girl on top. A groan and crack came from the ice.

“Let her go,” Wallace yelled. “I will pull her separate. Holding her to you is too much weight.”

Damn it all, he wanted to hold her, cradle her frosted figure. Gently he let her go, sliding away from her in reverse as Wallace’s group dragged Cat closer to the thin ice sign. Several feet farther back, Nathaniel rose gingerly and hurried toward the group of men, his boots clacking on the ice as he ran precariously. Someone had retrieved her cloak and shoved it into his hands as he reached Cat’s side where Wallace was lifting her from the ice. His constant companion, Lord Matthew Hunt, picked up the nearly-drowned girl.

“I have got her,” Nathaniel said, pushing through the press. “Wrap up the child, too. And bring her.” He took Cat’s wet, frigid body into his chest. “Blast,” he murmured. She was freezing.

Wallace wiped a hand over her face. “Take her to the tents where there is a fire.”

“This way,” Nathaniel said and looked out at the staring people who had just witnessed Cat’s heroic rescue. “Move aside.” He strode across the smooth surface, leaving the onlookers behind and cradling her to him, the dripping mass of petticoats slapping against his legs. He veered onto the path between the tents, dodging fairgoers and the curious.

He knew exactly where to take her.