Page 65 of Almost a Bride
“Mother did you ever see such lovely colors? Father said I could have two—”
A sudden scream rent the air, and a stab of terror lodged in Roselyn’s chest. A young woman, a farmer’s daughter whose name Roselyn had forgotten, was running toward the common from the beach, tears on her face.
“There’s a dead man down on the rocks!” she cried, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder.
There were shocked cries and frightened whispers. The men of the village headed down toward the beach, while the women stood clustered together, counting their family members, praying it was no one they knew.
Roselyn stood back and resisted the urge to say another prayer—because she knew with grim certainty whose body had returned from the ocean.
Chapter 19
Later in the afternoon, Roselyn returned to her cottage and found Spencer pacing the courtyard. She watched in silent surprise as he began resting a little weight on his broken leg.
“You could worsen your injury,” she said.
He whirled around, and she was stunned to see a dagger in his hand.
“Don’t surprise me like that,” he said sternly.
She continued to stare at the weapon. “Where did you get that?”
“At the manor. When Francis came upon me at the chapel yesterday, I realized I was foolish to be so unprepared.”
She sat down on the bench. “You might have even more cause to be wary. They found the Spaniard’s body on the beach today.”
“Did the villagers think he was from the battle?”
“Yes, but it aroused everyone’s suspicions. Apparently, there are strangers on the island, asking questions.”
Spencer stiffened. “About me?”
“Not that I know of. But you must understand that every visitor to Wight is a stranger, especially during these times of war. A man could have asked for simple lodging and been viewed suspiciously.”
He shrugged and resumed his pacing, occasionally resting weight on his broken leg.
Now he was certain to leave soon, and nothing was resolved. He was not telling her all the truth, and for a moment she debated giving him the pouch anyway.
But what if that was all he was waiting for? Could she live with herself if something dreadful happened, if he was the traitor she suspected?
And that was the true dilemma of her situation: she couldn’t trust him, yet she was drawn to him with a power she never would have imagined. Just watching him move made her feel pleasurably languid, made her body not her own anymore, but his.
What was she to do—just let him go?
But then she’d never know one way or another what he was, what he meant to her.
Meant to her?Even if he turned out to be the most patriotic of Englishmen, he was still dangerous. She needed to get back to her sedate life, to her solitary cottage, to her ordinary days.
Roselyn eyed him speculatively. “Why didn’t you tell me you would be coming to Wakesfield this morning?”
He leaned against the low wall, and the beginnings of a smile played about his lips.
“I didn’t know myself until after you’d gone.”
“You couldn’t bear the thought of your own company?” she asked, trying for sarcasm, and realizing she sounded almost playful.
He looked away with too casual an air. “Something like that.”
Something caught and held deep inside her, something more than the attraction she felt for him. He seemed almost…sad. Did he miss his family, his old way of life? Maybe he wasn’t used to being alone—though surely he could have had female companionship whenever he wanted.
