Chapter Sixteen #2
“Two weeks later she tell me she have a bellyful.” He pointed outside. “With that.”
“Then the child is your respons—“ Marcus began.
“Not my blood, not my problem!” the man snarled again.
“She’s filthy and neglected and starving to death.”
The smith gave him an insolent look. “Is in the good lord’s hands.” His tone was mocking. “When the priest come he can take the brat, give her to the sisters to raise. In the meantime. . .” He gave an evil smile. “She sleep with the dog.”
Marcus’s fists were tight knots of rage, but he wasn’t going to let this sorry excuse for a man to provoke him. “Very well then,” he snapped and strode out the door.
Tessa was holding the child on her hip. She had twisted the ragged bunch of flowers into a little tiara and placed it on the matted curls.
“M’sieur, he claims he will give the child to the next priest that visits, to be raised by the sisters,” the shabby woman told him in a low voice.
“But there has been no priest here for over a year and the Abbey at Nivelles was destroyed during the revolution, more than twenty years ago. Who knows what happened to the sisters?”
He nodded, pressed an unobtrusive handful of coins into her hand, and signaled the boy to bring the horses.
She looked at the coins in her hands and gasped. “Gold Louis? Mais m’sieur. . . “ she began.
“You did what you could,” he said brusquely. “Look after your children.”
She pocketed the money, her eyes filled with tears. “Bless you, m’sieur, God bless you.”
He turned to Tessa.“We’re leaving,” he said curtly.
Tessa gaped at him. “But what about this little one?”
He held out his arms. “Give her to me.”
Her eyes riddled with doubt, she handed the child over. “But—”
“Mount up,” he said. The boy held her horse still so she could mount, and Marcus flipped him a coin. The lad caught it, glanced at it and grinned. “Merci m’sieur.”
Tessa gave Marcus an unhappy look but, seeming to realize his temper was on a knife-edge, obeyed. With one hand he boosted her into the sidesaddle, the little girl clasped against his body with the other. “Now take the child.” He held her up and Tessa settled her onto her lap.
“Eh, what you doing, Englishman?” There was a spate of swearing from the door of the smithy. Marcus ignored it.
The smith staggered out toward them. “You can’t take that child.”
“Not your blood, not your problem,” Marcus said in an icy voice.
The smith spluttered for a minute, then a cunning expression spread over his face. “You can have her for ten gold Louis.”
Marcus ignored him.
“Five then,” the man shouted.
Marcus inclined his head to the woman. “Get yourself and your children to safety, madame. Ride on, Tessa.” He swung up onto his own horse and they rode out of the village together, the little girl clasped, wide-eyed but otherwise unperturbed, in Tessa’s arms.
“Filthy thieving Anglais!” the smith shouted after them.
As they reached a bend in the road, Marcus glanced back and was glad to see the woman and her children had vanished into their cottage. The smith stood swaying in the middle of the road, shaking his fist and roaring with frustration.
#
THEY AMBLED ALONG AT a steady walk. Any faster and little girl’s head would have jiggled on her skinny little neck.
Besides, they weren’t in a hurry. She seemed quite content to be sitting on Tessa’s lap, gazing all around her with bright-eyed interest and occasionally glancing up at Tessa as if in reassurance.
After a little while the child relaxed and wriggled back to lean into Tessa’s arms as if perfectly content to be there.
And oh, the feeling of holding the small, warm body in her arms. Tessa had never held a small child before, had never had the chance, and the feeling was indescribable. The trust, the acceptance. The surge of protectiveness she felt.
After so many years failing to conceive, she’d thought she’d learned to accept her barrenness, but now all the yearning for a child of her own returned.
From time to time, she felt Marcus’s gaze upon her. “All right?” he asked, one time when she’d noticed him watching her.
“Perfect,” she said. “I think she’s enjoying herself.” It was remarkable how quickly the child had adapted to being on horseback, how quickly she’d accepted being held by Tessa.
Marcus reached into his saddlebag and drew out a wrapped parcel. “Leftover bread and cheese,” he said. “A bit stale, but she won’t mind that.” He passed a slice of bread and a piece of cheese to Tessa who gave it to the little girl.
She sniffed each cautiously, then fell to chewing with a blissful expression. Marcus waited until she‘d finished, then passed Tessa a water flask. “She’ll be thirsty too.”
She drank the water thirstily. “Is there any more food?” Tessa asked. “I think she’s still hungry.”
“A bit, but who knows when she last ate. She’ll be sick if she eats too much too fast. It had better be small meals and often until she becomes used to not feeling hungry.”
They rode on. The further they got from the village, the more Tessa began to worry.
What would become of this little scrap? It was all very well to have rescued her from the dreadful situation they’d found her in, but what now?
She held the child close as they moved along.
A convent with nuns? If there were any convents and nuns left after the revolution.
An hour or two out of the village, a brisk breeze sprang up. The little girl snuggled closer to Tessa. Goosebumps formed on her skinny little arms and legs. “Marcus,” Tessa said, “she’s getting cold.”
Marcus glanced across at her. The little one was shivering. Those rags were totally inadequate. And Tessa’s fashionable riding habit was designed to closely fit her slenderness. His coat was not so tight. “Pass her over.” He unbuttoned his coat, moved his horse closer and held out his arms.
The child stared at him in faint suspicion and clung to Tessa. “It’s all right,” Tessa said softly. “Go to Marcus.”
But of course the child spoke no English.
“Come here little one,” he said in French, hoping she could understand. If her mother was from Avignon, she might have spoken French rather than Flemish to the little girl. “I’ll keep you warm.”
With some reluctance the child allowed Tessa to unclench her fingers and pass her over to Marcus. He tucked her into his coat, and did up several buttons, supporting her on his arm.
“See?” He told her. “Like a nest. Warmer.”
The big eyes gazed back at him. Her little body was stiff and tense at first, but after a while she slowly relaxed against him.
He felt small, cold fingers wriggling between the fastenings of his shirt and then her palm pressed against his skin.
She gave a big sigh and relaxed more fully against him. Trusting him to keep her safe.
He swallowed a lump in his throat and silently vowed that he would. Poor little scrap.
They continued steadily on their way. From time to time. he peered inside his coat to check how she was traveling. Each time those bright eyes blinked back at him, like a little bird, but an hour later he saw she’d nodded off, her small body warm and relaxed against him.
“She’s asleep,” he said quietly.
“Oh, good,” Tessa said.
They rode on in silence, Marcus deep in thought.
After a while, Tessa said, “What are we going to do with her, Marcus? Do you plan to give her to the nuns—assuming we can find some.”
He glanced at her. “Hmm? I was just wondering, what did Louis look like?”
She blinked at the abrupt change of subject. “A lot like Edgar, only with kinder eyes.”
“So, blond with blue eyes?”
“Yes. But why—”
“And he was an officer, wasn’t he?”
“Yes, a lieutenant. But what does that have to do with anything?”
He paused for a minute, then said, “What would you like to do with the child?”
“Keep her,” she said immediately. No hesitation, and said with a faint air of defiance.
“Good,” he said mildly. “Because that’s what I was thinking, too. Raise her as our own.”
“You did?” She stared at him. “Keep her? Really? That’s wonderful. But, but you’re an earl.”
His mouth twitched. “I know.”
“I mean, yours is an ancient, well respected family. With blue blood.”
He smiled. “Everyone’s blood is red, Tessa—prince or peasant.”
“Well, I know that, but if we arrive back in England with a child of this age, people will talk.”
“Let them. People will talk anyway, no matter what the provocation. We’ll let it be thought that she’s Louis’s child, your niece. Orphaned. But we’ll raise her as our daughter.”
“Really? You would do that? As our daughter?” Her voice was husky. He glanced at her. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
They rode on a little. “If you’d already planned to keep her, why did you ask me what I wanted to do? What if I’d said no? Some women would be offended at the suggestion they take in a dirty little foreign urchin to raise.”
He shot her an amused look. “Those women didn’t spend their childhood watching over fox kitts and otter pups and badgers.”
“Yes, but what would you have done if I had refused to take her in?”
Again he lifted a shoulder. “Place her with a kind childless couple on one of my estates, I suppose. But we won’t, will we, Blossom?” he added, glancing into his coat. “We’re keeping you.”
As he spoke, she woke, stretched, and began to wriggle. “Pipi, pipi!” she said urgently.
Her second word, and he had no idea what she meant.
She continued to struggle, pushing at his coat as if trying to get out.
“Pipi?” he repeated to Tessa with a bemused look.
“Does she want to relieve herself?” she suggested.
“Oh. Right. Come on, Blossom, let’s pop you down.” Keeping her firmly in his embrace, Marcus swung down from his horse and set her on the side of the road. She took two steps into the grass, then squatted down and relieved herself.
“What a good girl,” Tessa said in a warmly congratulatory tone.
Marcus glanced at her, bemused. “Why? It’s a natural process.”