Fair Weather Enemies Page 10

He chuckled softly. “I am a consolation prize at best. To her, I am likely not so much a man as a venerated name and a plot of land.”

  A wave of pity and protectiveness suddenly came over Jane. She opened her mouth to disagree with his assessment. He was much more than a consolation prize, much more than a name and an estate. In fact, despite her desire to think otherwise, he seemed the very epitome of a decent man. However, pride and twenty years of training stopped the words before they left her lips. She closed her mouth and very carefully reminded herself that he was an Ashford.

  He peered at her closely. “You’ve something to say?”

  “Nothing,” she replied. Instead, she fell quiet while considering the injustice of God wasting such charm and fine looks on her sworn enemy. Nothing seemed fair anymore.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Four hours of walking brought the treasure hunters to the town of Penrith. For Adam, the long walk had passed swiftly in conversation with Jane. Only near the end had he begun to suspect that Hester and Barlow had intentionally sequestered themselves. Did they really mean to push Jane and him toward a more civil association? As much as he wished to discard the notion as ridiculous, he was forced to admit that their plan was working. He was beginning to like Jane. His parents must be turning over in their graves at the very notion of it! He whispered a prayer of apology and vowed to try more diligently to resist Jane’s charms. After all, she was his ardent enemy, and one could never trust an enemy. Was that not so?

  “We should ask someone for directions to the church.”

  Hester’s suggestion seemed prudent. Although Penrith was not large, their tight schedule left little time for wandering aimlessly. However, Barlow had other thoughts.

  “Not necessary, my dear Mrs. Byrd.” He pointed. “It lies just there, I believe. We need only continue along this route.”

  Hester laughed. “Very good, Simon. You’ve the eyes of a hawk.”

  “And the beak of one as well.” He thumped his aquiline nose. Hester laughed and dipped her eyes.

  “I have always admired a good hawk.”

  Barlow froze as if in confusion. Adam cocked his head in wonder as the self-proclaimed most effective solicitor in London, a man who orated for a living, seemed abruptly lost for words. Hester glanced up at him shyly and smiled. The simple act appeared to unlock him from his frozen state. He straightened his cravat, and a swagger appeared in his step.

  “I will consider that a compliment, Hester.”

  Adam peeked at Jane to find her equally dumbfounded. When she looked at him with drawn brows, he shrugged. However, he knew very well what had happened. It seemed that Hancock women were naturally adept at disarming those dedicated to resisting them.

  “Resist, Adam,” he whispered to himself. “Resist.”

  “What are you mumbling, Mr. Ashford?”

  He cut his eyes toward his nemesis. “Nothing. Simply admonishing myself to remain focused on the task at hand.”

  A tiny smile curled one side of her lovely mouth as if she’d ascertained his thoughts. How could she know his mind? And when had he begun regarding her mouth as lovely? He shook his head and shoulders vigorously to erase the questions and strode ahead with the horse to join Hester and Barlow. Another moment alone with Jane might threaten to unravel his determination.

  …

  “Hello? Mr. Fudge?”

  Adam’s tentative call echoed through the empty assembly hall of St. Andrew’s Church. No reply came.

  “Perhaps the priest is not here,” Jane said.

  A distant clinking of glass gave evidence otherwise. Hester pointed toward a door adjacent the dais. It stood slightly ajar, and the sound had come from that direction. “There, I believe.”

  Without further discussion, they trod carefully toward the door. Adam opened it and slipped through with the others trailing quietly. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he spied a man garbed in black sipping from a bottle, his back to the approaching group. Adam walked toward the stranger.

  “Vicar?”

  The man dropped the bottle, which shattered at his feet, and wheeled to face Adam. The white Geneva band circling his throat identified him as clergy. The band matched the whites of his wide eyes.

  “I was merely testing the quality of the sacramental wine and nothing more!”

  The assertion proved rather defensive. Adam narrowed his eyes to assess the man. A black suit swallowed a slight frame that seemed in constant motion. Close-set dark eyes offered suspicion.

  “Pardon the interruption, vicar,” Adam said calmly. “We are simply four travelers from afar wishing to ask you a few questions.”

  The vicar’s suspicion erupted into full alarm. “From afar, you say? Did the bishop send you? Has he been asking about me? Have you come to spy on me? To report on my work? If so, I know nothing of the missing funds.” His nervous hands wrung together in a white-knuckled knot. “Or is this about the wine again? I taste it only to ensure appropriate quality. I seek only the best interest of my beloved parishioners, you see.” His breath caught suddenly, and his face blanched. “This is not about that woman, is it? I know nothing of the woman! Ridiculous rumors, nothing more.” His hands flew suddenly to his mouth to stifle a gasp. “Did she send you? Is she with, with, with…child? Why, such cannot be…”

  “We are not from the bishop or the woman, for Heaven’s sake!”

  Jane’s loud and impatient response immediately halted the vicar’s diarrhea of words. He stared at her with surprised relief. “No?”

  She stepped to Adam’s elbow. “We are not from the bishop or from any mysterious woman who may or may not be with child. We are certainly not spying.”

  The priest unclenched his hands. “Then who the devil are you?”

  “As we said, simple travelers on the road in search of a particular grave. Mr. Thistlethwaite of High Hesket directed us to you.”

  The vicar wrinkled his nose and blinked his eyes as if expecting a glob of saliva from Jane. “My drunken cousin? I do not have his money.”

  At that, the vicar darted toward the door, apparently intending to flee. Adam moved quickly to catch his arm. “Sir, we are not here to collect money, but simply to ask a question or two about a giant’s grave. Nothing more, I assure you.”

  The priest blinked twice. “Giant’s grave? Is that all?”

  “Yes, Reverend Fudge.”

  The priest extracted his elbow from Adam’s grip, straightened his jacket, and stood as tall as his diminutive frame would allow. “Well, why did you not just say so in the first place?”

  Adam began to answer the question but thought better of it. Instead, he nodded. “My mistake, Mr. Fudge. Now about that grave.”

  The priest nodded and eyed the broken bottle at his feet. He sighed. “A terrible shame, that.” Then he engaged Adam again. “Follow me.”

  Adam and the others hurried to keep pace as Mr. Fudge walked swiftly from the chamber, down the length of the assembly hall, and out the front door. He was forced to trot as the priest led them to a graveyard abutting the side of the building. Mr. Fudge halted before a curious collection of stones.

  “Here we are. Giant’s Grave. A heathen’s tomb, if ever there was one.”

  Adam moved carefully alongside the stones in perusal. A set of four unmarked upright semicircles of stone protruded from the earth in two parallel rows. At either end of the rows, perhaps fifteen feet apart, two obelisks of stone soared upward to about twice his height, as if monuments to a minor pharaoh.

  “Vicar,” he said, “is this the grave of the Giant of Castle Hewen, then? The Bad Baron of whom your cousin spoke?”

  The priest sniffed disregard. “So say the locals. They claim the giant lies interred between the obelisks, and that his height is equal to the distance between the stones.”

  “But you do not believe this?”

  “N
o. Giants are for fairy tales.”

  Jane appeared again at Adam’s elbow. The brush of her arm startled him. However, she seemed unaffected by the touch, likely due to her clear desire to make a point.

  “Mr. Fudge. What of the Bible, then? Were there not giants in the Bible?”

  The vicar raised a finger and opened his mouth but stopped. He frowned in brief contemplation. “Yes. However, none stood fifteen feet in height.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course.”

  Adam could not help but smile at her sarcasm. He moved a step toward the vicar, primarily to liberate himself from Jane’s uncomfortable proximity. He offered the priest a warm smile. “Who lies beneath the monument, then?”

  The vicar shrugged. “Nobody knows. Perhaps a Danish king. Perhaps a local chieftain. Or perhaps a lesser giant.”

  Jane snorted. “It seems Penrith did not lack for giants.”

  Mr. Fudge peered at Jane, apparently prepared to take offense. However, he simply sighed. “It would seem so.”

  Adam stifled a laugh and smiled again for the unsettled priest. “Are there no records of the interment, then?”

  “No. The monument predates the church’s founding in the twelfth century.”

  Adam felt the tug of his coat at the elbow. He turned his head to find Jane still standing much too near. Her eyes communicated mild reprimand. “Mr. Ashford. It matters not who lies beneath the stones. It matters only that the writer of the letter believed it to be a giant. And it further matters only that we have, indeed, found the supposed giant’s grave. On hallowed ground, one might say. Now, if only we might speak freely.”

  She cut her eyes discreetly toward the lingering priest. Adam arched his brows and nodded. Jane’s assessment of what was important restored his focus. He reached for the vicar’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you very much, Reverend Fudge. You have proven most informative and cooperative in this matter. We will be sure to take a positive report back to the bishop.”

  Mr. Fudge’s eyes grew wide and he gasped with alarm. After coughing out a few unintelligible words, he fled the grave to scurry toward the church entrance. This time Adam did not restrain him, but merely smiled at the retreating form. He laughed aloud when the vicar offered one final defense before disappearing around a corner.

  “I was merely testing the wine! Nothing more! My parishioners are miserable liars, the lot of them!”

  As the defense faded from earshot, Adam glanced down to find Jane regarding him with amusement. “Well done. You begin to rival Mr. Barlow at spinning stories.”

  Adam raised his chin with mock pride. “Thank you, Miss Hancock.”

  “I wonder what stories you have spun for me,” she added.

  He hesitated, giving great care and consideration to her question. Then he smiled. “None, Jane. And I never will. It is the least I can do for a sworn enemy with whom I shall never be friends.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jane blinked with bewilderment. In the Hancock Book-of-All-Things, the name Ashford was synonymous with serpent. To trust an Ashford was to invite disaster. Adam had just promised never to deceive her. Every fiber of her being vigorously instructed her to ignore the promise. However, the more she tried to resist, the more she awakened to a surprising revelation. She did, in fact, trust Adam. Why, she could not say for certain. However, something of his character drew her regard. Something of his demeanor imbued her with confidence. She gritted her teeth at the revelation. She was supposed to hate him. The man was making it terribly difficult for her to maintain open animosity.

  She must have remained frozen far too long, for she jumped when Aunt Hester gripped her hand. “Jane, dear? Are you well?”

  “Yes, Auntie. I am well. I was simply considering the next phase of the puzzle.”

  Adam chuckled. “I see. What is your plan, then?”

  She shot him a fierce but mostly theatrical glare. “Produce your letter, Ashford. Then we shall see.”

  “Very well.” He retrieved his letter as she did the same. She unfolded the paper and began reading.

  “From tower to ruins now set a due course.”

  “To witness the kingdom bereft of a horse.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “Yet another odd pair of lines. A tower? More ruins?”

  A thought struck her. “Perhaps not so odd.” She pointed to the ancient bell tower gracing the front of the church. Its looming presence seemed more at home on a fortress wall than a house of God. He followed her finger.

  “A tower. How convenient.”

  He surged into motion and walked toward the tower. She hurried to catch up while Aunt Hester and Barlow followed. Adam was staring upward at the monolith of stone when she joined him. As she watched, his gaze slid down its length before he pivoted. He pointed down the adjacent road.

  “There lies the only thoroughfare leading directly away from the tower. Perhaps we should follow it.”

  Jane shook her head. “Perhaps we should ask for directions to any local ruins.”

  “Directions are for the timid and for women.”

  “Just as mindless wandering is for the imbecilic and for men.”

  He ignored her retort and retrieved Beelzebub. Much to the horse’s dismay, Adam strode resolutely toward the road. The beast seemed no match for his present intensity. Once again, she hurried to catch him. “Why the sudden urgency, Mr. Ashford?”

  He glanced at her in consideration. “I’m not certain, but perhaps it is this. I have been skeptical of the letters thus far. However, when we found the giant’s grave, something changed. Suddenly, I have faith.”

  “Faith in the letters?”

  He smiled warmly. “Yes. Faith in the letters. Faith in our mission. And faith in us.”

  Her breath caught with his last proclamation. She cleared her throat. “By ‘faith in us,’ do you mean faith in our ability to find the way to the treasure?”

  His smile grew inscrutable. “Yes, Jane. Faith in our ability to find the way.”

  He jerked his eyes away and increased his pace, leaving her to wonder at his unspoken meaning. She fell in behind him, her mind spinning over the riddle of the letters and the puzzle of her growing regard for Adam. So muddled were her thoughts that she nearly plowed into him when he stopped.

  “Look there,” he said. She lifted her eyes from the dust of the road to find a field opening before her, just beyond a row of storefronts. Occupying the center of the field were the remains of a once-impressive castle. Her breath caught.

  “From tower to ruins! Those ruins?”

  “Very likely, I think.”

  Jane tossed a look over her shoulder to find Aunt Hester and Barlow following at some distance, clearly in little hurry. They seemed only to have eyes for each other, as if oblivious to the unveiling of the next riddle. She shook away creeping jealousy and trotted in a most unladylike manner to walk alongside Adam. The ruin loomed, two lengthy intersecting walls that gave evidence of the castle’s former glory. The other two walls were only fleeting hints of days gone by, outlined by stubs of stone. As they approached the ruin, her eyes caught a flash of movement. A small face peeked from behind a pile of stones that marked the foundation of a disappeared wall. As Adam tied the horse to a bush, Jane veered away from him to approach the small figure.

  “Do you live here?” she asked.

  A young girl with dark curls and a dirt-streaked face stood from the stones. She crossed her arms and shook her head.

  “No, miss. Nobody lives here. Everyone knows that.”

  Jane laughed. “And now I do as well.”

  “Are you invaders? Do you come to attack the castle?”

  Jane chuckled again. “Why do you ask?”

  “My brothers said I was to guard the castle until they return from their chores. They would be most displeased if I allowed the castle to fall to strangers.”

 
“I see. Well, young lady, we hold no ill intent, I assure you. I am Jane Hancock.”

  The girl ventured a smile. “I will spare you, then. I’m called Margaret Givens. Although my brothers call me Mags.”

  Jane nodded. “I prefer Margaret. Such a pretty name.”

  The girl’s smile widened. “As do I, Miss Hancock.”

  A shadow caused Jane to look aside. She found Adam standing beside her with a fond expression. He bowed to the girl. “Adam Ashford at your service, Miss Givens. May we have permission to approach the castle walls?”

  The girl nodded. “Indeed. But leave your weapons outside.”

  With bemused smiles for each other, Jane and Adam made a show of disarming. She nearly laughed at his theatrics. It seemed he possessed a panoply of invisible weapons, including a spear, multiple bows and arrows, and apparently a large battering ram. He wiped his brow in mock relief after setting down the make-believe log.

  “There we are, Miss Givens. Fully disarmed. Now, can you tell us about this castle? To whom did it belong?”

  She shrugged. “How should I know? I am only seven years old, after all.”

  Adam abruptly produced a copper coin and held it before her between thumb and forefinger. Her eyes grew wide as she considered it. “My mum would know, though.”

  Jane gave Margaret another warm smile. “Should we go ask your mum, then?”

  “No, miss. She would tell you only that the castle once belonged to the King of England.”

  Adam stepped forward to place the coin in her outstretched hand. “Thank you, Miss Givens. Now, perhaps you could tell us which king.”

  “How should I know? I am only seven.”

  Adam produced another copper coin. The girl eyed it. “But my mum would talk about York houses and people fighting over roses.”

  He placed the coin in Margaret’s palm before offering Jane arched eyebrows, inviting. She nodded at him before addressing the girl. “Margaret, might you refer to the War of the Roses?”

  “Yes, miss. That’s the one. Although I don’t understand why folks would fight over roses. They grow wild everywhere. I pick them all the time, and nobody tries to fight me.”