Dearest Lady Weis,
My lover slapped me when I started talking about you while we were in her bedchambers.
I had to leave her estate in the middle of the night, dressed in naught but my breeches.
It is quite liberating that I can share such stories with you knowing you'd fully understand. Although I fear my confessions would soon be thrown back at me in some way. I am not saying by you, but by some other means.
Yours,
William
*****
It was not difficult to come up with a decision regarding Thomas' offer, Ysabella was thinking as she looked outside the carriage window.
Thomas managed to make her confuse. Added to that was the other side of Wakefield she saw in Bertram. Furthermore were her reactions to him whenever they were alone.
Wakefield was not truly the man she knew while being Ysabella Everard in Wickhurst or as Lady Weis in the letters.
He was someone else far more as Wakefield with simply Ysabella Everard in a garden, a cabin, a dark parlour, or even in a bloody shooting lesson.
It took no longer than a night of restlessness for her to realize what her reactions to him in Bertram meant.
She never felt anything other than nice when Thomas kissed her. It made her think a lot, but it was never the same as Wakefield's kiss.
With Wakefield, the very memory of that kiss they shared could make her mind drift to many places, opening many dreams and illusions in her mind. Even the one he gave her when they danced in the parlour could keep her awake all night should she allow her mind to think of it.
So, yes, Ysabella now had a name to all her reactions to Wakefield.
The excitement, the scary feeling and her inscrutable emotions were all but one: desire.
And she figured it was not bad to feel it. As a matter of fact, this desire made her feel even more woman.
"You seem quite deep in thought," Wakefield noted dryly, drawing Ysabella back to the present. "Having regrets?" he added, his eyes staring at her with meaning.
"Ah, so you know I refused Thomas," she absently said, looking more closely at the scene they passed by. "Where are we?"
He peered through the window to see. "We are entering Blucksley, I believe."
"And we have to stay at Blucksley for the night, yes?" she asked, trying to feel her legs but couldn't, a sign that they had to find a tavern soon.
"Yes."
"Then could I suggest the tavern?" she asked, her mind already racing to one specific place.
Wakefield's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You know Blucksley."
She shrugged. "We do make a stop here whenever we visit Standbury. Trust me, my lord, I know the perfect place to stay."
"Why do I have a feeling that I am not going to like this place?"
She rolled her eyes. "We shall have separate rooms, believe me. I shall not compromise you."
For the first time in many days, she witnessed Wakefield laugh. "Bloody tarnation. Compromise me?"
She wryly glared at him. "Do not, for one second, think that I cannot do so."
Alarm flickered in his eyes, followed by a glint of desire, before he covered them with a laugh, saying, "Very well. You shall choose where we make our stop." He knocked on the roof of the carriage and it slowed down.
Ysabella leaned her head out of the carriage to tell the driver where they should stop for a respite. She leaned back against her seat and smiled with contentment. She was at Blucksley.
Perfect place to find old friends.
*****
Wakefield was staring blindly at the ceiling, wide-eyed and without a foreseeable amount of sleep.
They would reach Wickhurst after this night.
He was fearful and at the same time anticipating the return.
Fearful that what he was planning to do would be different the moment they return. Everything was there—everything they had put on hold while at Bertram was waiting there and he found he did not wish to face any of it. Morris would present him the list of callers he would have to meet. Papers from Wakefield would be there as well and he'd have to make decisions for the next planting season. Aurora and her troubles were waiting for him.
He groaned at the thought of it all.
But all the same he was itching to go back. Start planning; start asking around how a man such as him—a rakehell—would court a lady who was adamant to marry him. Pathetic as it may sound, but it would be difficult to do when both of them were playing the same game.
He was in the middle of counting the number of flowers she had given him and how he could multiply those to a dozen more and many days it would take for him to carry them to her doors when a knock came to his door.
"Wakefield, are you awake?" Ysabella's voice asked outside the door.
He jumped out of bed and started to stride to the door when he paused to look across the room to see his reflection in the mirror. He tried to tidy himself by brushing his hair with his fingers and tucking his shirt beneath his breeches.
She knocked once more and he reached for the door, opened it a crack and frowned at her. "What the bloody hell are you—" he stopped, his mouth falling open. He opened the door wider to have a better look at her. "Are you wearing breeches?"
She smiled, enthusiastically nodding. "I was planning to visit friends and I wondered if you would like to come along."
He scowled at her. "It is the middle of the night!"
"Oh, but they are already waiting for me, see?" she said, waving a note in front of him. "I sent them a missive just this afternoon."
"Can this not wait until tomorrow?"
She cringed. "Well, uh..." she fidgeted, transferring her weight to the other foot, "uhm... they have important business to deal with on the morrow." She tried to cover her lie with a bright smile.
He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious of the wicked glint in her eyes. But her excitement was quite contagious and he realized he wanted to be with her tonight. If this was how a man ought to pursue a lady, then he must go, yes?
He sighed. "Very well."
"Perfect! Now, grab your coat. It is quite cold where my friends live."
He went to take his coat from the bed and as he put it on, he asked, "And where, may I ask, do these friends live?"
She merely grinned. "You shall see."
******
"I do not believe it is a famous idea to be out in the middle of the night in a town such as this, Ysabella," he could not help but say as he looked around the empty road. His eyes flickered to her hand and he battled internally whether it was wise to grab her hand and hold it. But how would he do so without appearing like a fool? But by not taking it, he was already a fool.
He cursed himself when she quickened her step, his plan now impossible.
They were nearing red stone formations and he was quite certain that no houses stood there. "My brother has warned me about Blucksley. Bandits are—"
"Ah, here it is," she suddenly said, not hearing him. Without taking a moment to hear another of his arguments, she ran across the road which led to the edge of a forest of tree formations.
"Ysabella, do not—"
But she was already waving for him to walk faster. Wakefield sighed, looked about, hoping to find a stranger that might warn them off and beg them to go back to the tavern, but there was none.
With hesitant steps, he followed her and she turned to enter the darkness within the tree rocks.
They were called tree rocks for the formations stood like trees, stone pillars that extended up to the ceiling of the Town, mayhap even beyond aboveground.
"If this is part of a game you are planning to play, little one," he said with warning stumbling close behind her, "I do not find it entertaining."
She turned around to walk backward, a habit of hers that he had learned to like. "I would dare not play a game with you—"
"Oi! Oi! Oi!" a voice suddenly said behind Wakefield.
"Look who we have 'ere!" said another from behind Ysabella.
She yelped in surprise and Wakefield started to run toward her, his heart almost leaping out of his chest. The instinct to get to her and pull her to safety came without warning.
But he never reached her as a hand caught him by his collar. Without thinking, Wakefield whirled around to punch the man behind him.
"Ow!" the young lad screamed, stepping away from him.
"Dare not, guv!" warned another young man when Wakefield started to run to Ysabella. The same man had managed to catch Ysabella from behind, his hand covering hers while the others held her hands behind her.
Wakefield felt his blood rush up to his head but the young man he punched had managed to recover and was now grabbing his hands. The fool may very well be shorter than him, but he matched Wakefield's strength.
"What do you want?" he asked the two men. "Money? I have some."
The two young lads laughed.
"We'd love some, guv, but we dinna come 'ere for tha', see?"
"Then what do you—"
"No more word from ye, guv, no more." The warning was laced with danger and warning.
He started to panic when he felt his hands being tied behind him. He could have fought the man, but his eyes were focused on Ysabella. She was trying to speak through her captor's hand.
"Barto, do make it quick," said Ysabella's captor.
"Aye," said his captor, tugging Wakefield's bound tighter.
"Let her go and I shall go with you," he tried to say.
"You speak lots, guv," said Barto. "'Nother word and yer lady comes with us and ye stay 'ere."
Wakefield's jaw clenched.
"Ready?" Ysabella's captor asked.
"Aye, Ned. Ye lead the way."
Ysabella was shouting behind Ned's hand but the young lad merely laughed. "Ye came 'ere, not us, miss. Now, do be quiet."
Barto pushed Wakefield forward. "Move, guv. We bandits are busy folks, ye know. We dinna like wastin' our precious time," he said with a laugh.
They walked across the tree rock formations, passing by some with a hint of light above, giving way to some bandits keeping watch from above. All the way the two bandits whistled as if it was an everyday task to escort victims off the road to wherever they were taking them.
Bloody hell. Where did Ysabella think she was going? He could not help but wonder if she had known this would happen or she was simply naïve not to have realized the danger of her adventure.
The forest of tree rocks came to an end, giving way to a large clearing which they crossed, Wakefield and Ysabella stumbling in front of the two bandits. He started planning how to escape or how to help her escape. Mayhap bandits would consider if he'd beg?
His mind started to race when the two bandits forced them to enter a very narrow passage between two giant rock walls. It was like passing through a corridor behind an estate that servants used to go from one room to another without being seen by their masters and the guests.
But this was no bloody estate, he thought, when they finally reached the end of the passage, revealing before his eyes another place he had never seen before. It was as though he entered another village inside a village. He looked up and found a large hole above, giving the many cottages enough moonlight and fresh air. From a distance he could see a plantation.
People—women, men and children alike—who were dressed in what people in Wickhurst would consider rags, stopped for a moment to stare at him and Ysabella. And as though it was a very common thing to see bound rich people, they continued with what they were doing and entered their cottages.
Bloody hell. Where were they?
"Bloody hell, let go of me!" Wakefield heard Ysabella's voice shout and his eyes widened when the bandit named Ned let her go and she whirled around to smack his head, sending the bandit's newsboy hat to fly off.
"Ack!" the man shouted while Barto laughed beside Wakefield. It was only then that he realized he was free to move and when he did, he wasted no time and attacked Barto, hands still tied behind him. Both of them landed on the ground with Wakefield on top of the young bandit.
"Ned!" Barto started shouting as he craned his neck away from Wakefield's teeth. "The bloody lord's bitin' me! He's bitin' me!"
"Wakefield! Stop it!" Ysabella was screaming. From the corner of his eye he saw her running toward him.
He'd bite the man's neck off if he had to, he thought, but hands were pulling him away from the crying Barto.
"What the hell's happenin' 'ere!" a female voice shouted.
"They bound him!" Ysabella's voice shouted as she pulled Wakefield away from Barto.
"Let go! Let go!" cried Barto while Ned helped Ysabella, laughing with mirth.
"You bleedin' idiots!" the woman's voice said and Wakefield finally gave up, letting himself be dragged away from Barto. He saw a woman dressed in a shirt and trousers, her bushy black hair flying about her as she attacked the two bandits.
"Are you all right?" asked Ysabella. Before Wakefield could utter they must escape while the bandits were killing each other, she said to the group, "Ned bound me and Barto tied my companion like one of his victims!"
"'Twas a rite of passage, Alex!" shouted Ned as he blocked the woman's punch. "Rite of passage!"
"Rite of passage me arse, you bleedin' lunatics!" the fiery lady shouted before she turned around to face both Ysabella and Wakefield who were still on the ground.
Wakefield was quite stunned to see that she had a feminine face. In fact, she was a beauty if she could simply learn to wash her face properly.
"Forgive me useless cousins, Ysabella," she said, chest heaving. Her grey eyes slanted down on Wakefield. "Ye must be Lord Wakefield, eh?" she asked, a naughty grin forming her face before her eyes returned to the woman holding him. "Tis fine man yer husband?"
"I bloody wish," Ysabella said with a grunt as she helped the stunned Wakefield to his feet. "But no, Alex, he is not, not yet anyway. Now," she said, cocking a brow at the two lads behind Alex. "Who amongst you would be so kind as to untie my future husband?"
At her last two words, Ned and Barto jumped to their feet to run up to Wakefield to untie him.
"Sorry, guv," Barto said, grey eyes grinning at him. "We thought yer one of Ysa's brothers. We dinna have good memory of one of 'em, see?"
Wakefield was looking at everyone with confusion, utterly lost. When his eyes met Ysabella's she let out a nervous chuckle. "Welcome to Meriwether," she said, gesturing with her hands. "And meet my friends," she added, motioning to Alex and the two bandits behind him.
"Ey, guv," the lady bandit greeted him with a mocking, wicked grin.