June Francis - Rebel Lady, Convenient Wife

She flushed. ‘No, but it seems so incredible that it could happen in a so-called civilised country.’

‘There are thousands taken into slavery in this world, Anna,’ he rasped. ‘Not only in France but Spain, Africa and Arabia. You find it unbelievable because those worlds are beyond your experience. Yet look at what your husband’s nephew planned for you. He would see you burn. Now that I find incredible and there are questions I would like to ask.’ He paused, before adding, ‘But it really is none of my business and you should tell Owain everything. Now, if you will excuse me.’

She felt the colour deepen in her cheeks and came to the conclusion that the sooner Jack left the better. He had played the role of knight errant, yet now he was doubting whether she was as innocent as she had appeared. Perhaps he now believed she was a witch. She thought back to the moment when he had come to her rescue. If he had not done so, then she might not have lived to see this night through and she would always be grateful to him. But she no longer felt hungry and, draining her goblet of wine, slipped out of the parlour.

Jack caught the glimpse of a whisk of black skirts as Anna left the room. Obviously she’d had enough of the small gathering. However caring a family, when one had lived a different life away from them, it was never easy for either party to adjust to the changes. He knew he had offended her and regretted it. He wondered what she would think of him if she knew he had murder in his heart. No doubt she would be shocked and attempt to dissuade him from such a course.

He had sworn Davy to secrecy about his intentions—not that he had told him the absolute truth—but hopefully he could be trusted with what he did know. Jack had no desire to cause his kinfolk further worry, but it was his life and he must do what he believed was just. He knew Matt sensed his distress, but the pain of being treated as of less worth than a beast of burden had gone too deep to talk of it easily, even to his twin. His experience would always set him apart and that made him feel very alone. Perhaps that was why he sympathised so much with Anna—being accused of being a witch made her an outcast, too.

He must stop thinking about her! Sympathy could weaken a man and result in death. During his captivity, he had immersed himself in bitterness and hatred and used any method necessary to ensure his survival. He was not proud that there had been a time when he’d had to act in ways that now made him feel ashamed. Anna would certainly not approve of his behaviour.

Anna had no sooner left the parlour than she encountered one of the servants in the passage outside. She was a pleasant-faced woman with greying brown hair and soft hazel eyes.

‘I was coming to tell you that your bedchamber is ready, Lady Anna,’ she said. ‘There’s hot water if you wish to cleanse yourself from the dust of travel. Your baggage has been taken up. It is a pleasure to see you back here at Rowan.’

‘Thank you, Megan,’ said Anna absently. The maid had worked on her half-brother’s manor as long as she could remember.

‘I’m so sorry your house burned down. Yet perhaps it’s fate that has brought you here.’

Anna was too weary and full of aches and pains to bother asking her what she meant by those last words. ‘Goodnight, Megan. I’ll manage to undress without help.’

‘But there is something I must—’ began Megan.

‘Not now.’ Anna left her behind and made her way upstairs to the bedchamber that had been hers all her growing years.

A branch of candles had been lit and stood on a small table. It was a well-appointed room and its window looked out over the vegetable garden and the paddocks where Owain’s fine brood mares and stud horses grazed. She wondered whether to bother unpacking the few clothes she had managed to save from the fire. Perhaps just her night rail and toiletries for now, she decided. She gazed at the bed and wanted to collapse on it and sleep for hours and hours, but first she must wash. At least her gloves had protected her hands and they were reasonably clean still.

There was a tablet of Kate’s special lavender oil soap on the stand and a thickly woven drying cloth. No doubt it had come from Bruges and had been delivered to this household by a carrier who had worked for Jack.

She undressed, throwing her smoke-impregnated gown into a corner of the room. She stood naked a moment, inspecting her bruised arms and scratched breast. A shadow darkened her eyes and a tear fell on her cheek as she remembered those terrifying moments in her bedchamber. Whose face had been behind that devil’s mask?

Should she do as Jack had said and tell Owain everything that had happened that day? Forewarned was forearmed; if her half-brother was to represent her and challenge Will at the local court, then perhaps he should know that, besides accusing her of adultery, Will had said that she was a murderess and witch, as well. Due to the difference in their ages, Owain had been more of a father to her than a brother. Both he and Kate deserved her honesty, but the accusation against her mother continued to nag at her.

Anna sighed, taking her night rail from a saddlebag. She sniffed the garment and discovered that it, too, stank of smoke. Should she dress again and go and ask Kate might she borrow a nightgown? Perhaps not. Anna was in no mood for a heart to heart with the woman who had been as a mother to her. She felt guilty for feeling the way she did, so instead she thought of Jack.

His refusal to talk about his time spent in captivity spoke to her of great suffering. How would she have coped with being a slave? Of course, wives were to some degree considered chattels by their husbands, but this could not compare with slavery such as Jack had experienced. Giles, who had been almost twice her age, had adored and spoilt her. She missed him still, but time had lessened her grief. He had left her well provided for, and even if she were to remarry she would not lose by it. She was only twenty-three, so still young enough to bear children. The thought caused her a mixture of anguish and hope. Although something had died inside her when she had lost Joshua, she knew that she still had more love to give. But not now—not yet.

She put on her night rail and then unpinned her redgold hair so that it rippled down her back. As she combed it, her mind drifted over all that had happened that day. Would she ever be rid of the images of Will’s hissing voice accusing her of adultery and witchcraft, of that devil’s mask, her house aflame, poor Marjorie dead and Jack plucking her from danger? Shewondered what thoughts lay behind those fine steely blue-grey eyes of his. She wished she might help him. After all, he had come to her aid when she was in dire peril.

Anna finished combing her hair and then knelt by her bedside and prayed for mercy, forgiveness, guidance and protection from evil. She was just about to climb into bed when there came a knock. For a moment she thought of pretending she was asleep, but curiosity sent her over to the door.

She pressed her ear against the wood. ‘Who is it?’

There was no answer.

The knock came again.

‘Who is it?’ she repeated.

Again no answer, but she could hear heavy breathing. Her heart began to thud. What should she do? Perhaps it was the children playing games with her? She flung open the door, only to be confronted by an adult male holding the devilish mask up to his face. The light from a nearby wall lantern shone on his flaxen hair. She caught her breath as he lowered the mask and the face behind it looked even more terrifying in the flickering light.

‘Well, so-called sister of mine, have you never wondered why your hair is the colour it is?’ Hal sneered. ‘Your mother, Gwendolyn, had a lover!’