Fair Weather Enemies Read online

  “Very well.” She descended to her knees, folded her hands, and began praying. “Almighty God, grant me thy patience to suffer fools, grant me thy guidance to find salvation, and grant me thy divine intervention in the tossing of the coin.”

  Adam grinned, dropped to his knees, and began praying an attempt to reverse Jane’s prayer. They continued praying over the top of each other, she for an escape from debtor’s prison and he for his estate, their voices rising until both were nearly shouting. However, they froze simultaneously as an eerie sound began rising in the room. As if someone were wailing in the walls. He shot to his feet and dragged Jane up with him.

  “Return to the light, Jane! We must return to the light!”

  They hurried from the hallway, fleeing the notion of the ghosts of dead royalty.

  Chapter Eleven

  Jane clung to the folds of Adam’s coat as they rushed from the prayer room. For the entire length of the hallway, the vulnerable space between her shoulder blades tingled as every fairy tale, ghost story, and lurid legend raced through her panicked thoughts. The moment she finally tumbled from darkness into the storeroom, she began to laugh breathlessly. Adam cocked his head and flashed a mild grin.

  “What amuses you so?”

  She paused to catch her breath. “I was skeptical of Mr. Carver’s ghostly claims, but now I am not so certain.”

  “We told you so,” said Carver.

  “Twice,” added Simms. “Now you know why we shun the prayer room.”

  “Indeed. I will follow your prudent example henceforth.”

  Hester grabbed Jane’s hand, her face drawn with concern. “What happened in there? We heard your scream.”

  Jane glanced at Adam and grinned. “The confluence of overactive imaginations and ancient structures, I imagine. However, we did as the letter suggested and prayed where a king’s soul took flight.”

  “What’s next, then?”

  She retrieved her letter once again. The dimness of the chamber made reading difficult, so she turned her back to the window for light. “The next line reads, ‘pivot to ponder the radiance of day.’”

  She glanced at Adam, who was already examining his letter. “Mine says, ‘look to the archer revealing the way.’”

  He peered at her with narrowed eyes as each repeated the combined lines in a whisper. Barlow stepped forward.

  “I may have it.”

  Hester touched his arm. “What do you think, Mr. Barlow?”

  He smiled proudly at her, seemingly lost for words. Then he pointed toward the window. “The window tells all.”

  Jane cocked her head. “How so, sir?”

  “The window serves a dual purpose. It resides on the south wall, the optimal location for allowing sunlight to penetrate the interior.”

  “The radiance of day!” said Adam. “To ponder the radiance of day, we must face the window.”

  “Exactly. When doing so, we must consider the second and more important purpose of the window.”

  “And that is?”

  Barlow moved toward it while motioning with his hands. “The keep was constructed long before the use of glass, so this window would have been open to the outside. And see how tall and narrow it is? Tall enough for a man to stand inside the window well but narrow enough that the enemy could not easily maneuver projectiles through it. In other words, the perfect niche for an archer defending the keep.”

  “True,” said Carver. “This place was built for the benefit of the archer.”

  Simms nodded. “And even better for those with firearms.”

  Carver shook his head. “I would argue your point. An archer need not pause to load shot.”

  “But a firearm proves more accurate than a bow for all but the most expert of bowmen.”

  “Good observation, Simms. However, the flash of powder at night draws attention to the precise location of the rifleman.”

  “I see your point, Carver. Perhaps the archer and rifleman working in concert would provide a most formidable defense.”

  While the soldiers continued discussing the merits of firearms versus bows, Jane stepped around Barlow, intrigued. “Regardless, it appears we must observe what an archer would survey when standing in the well.”

  She moved into the window well formed by the thick stone walls and pressed her hands and nose to the glass. Beyond lay Carlisle proper. What was the archer supposed to see? She lifted the letter to read the next line silently. It seemed that the line was a continuation of the one from Adam’s letter, so she spoke them aloud in sequence.

  “Look to the archer revealing the way, to long-hallowed ground of ancient giants.” She glanced up to find Adam just at her shoulder. He read his next line.

  “Who offered to men and to kings great defiance.”

  He screwed his jaw to one side in apparent consideration and lifted his eyes to peer straight ahead at a wide street running almost directly away from the window. He pointed toward it.

  “What road is that?”

  Carver and Simms stopped in mid-conversation and ambled into the well. Carver craned his neck in the direction Adam pointed.

  “Botchergate.”

  “Where does it lead?”

  “Why, Botchergate is simply the London Road.”

  “Although,” said Simms, “Many locals call it by its older name.”

  Jane turned to the soldier. “And that is?”

  “The Roman Road, on account of the fact that the Romans built it before they left. It yet endures, a veritable marvel of engineering.”

  Adam stepped nearer to her, his eyes shining. “The retreating invaders! Romans, not Jacobites!”

  His insight sent her thoughts racing. “Of course! The letter cannot speak of Jacobites because they retreated northward. This window faces south.”

  “Yes. The Romans were the original invaders here. When they finally left, they retreated south toward London.” Adam faced an intrigued Carver. “What lies down the Roman Road beyond Carlisle?”

  The soldier shrugged. “The villages of Hesket and Penrith. Naught else for a fair distance.”

  His dismissive tone led Jane to assume the villages were of little note. She was about to press him further when Carver’s eyes narrowed.

  “I must confess,” he said, “that your line of questioning is most confusing. I had expected inspection and assessment to proceed differently. Here you display more interest in everything outside the keep than in the keep itself.”

  Barlow stepped between Carver and Jane before she could give a potentially implicating response. He draped an arm over Carver’s shoulder while gathering Simms beneath the other.

  “I see now why they post you as sentries. Your keen powers of perception suit you to the task. Those powers have uncovered our larger mission.”

  The soldiers smiled with satisfaction and nodded at each other in a tacit exchange of congratulations. Simms peered at Barlow. “And what, sir, is your larger mission?”

  The solicitor pulled the men into a discreet huddle and lowered his voice. “A treasure hunt.”

  Jane grew alarmed. Surely, sharing the true purpose of their mission would land them in trouble, invite unwanted competition, or both. The sudden interest on the faces of the soldiers confirmed her fears.

  “Treasure?” said Carver. “What kind of treasure?”

  Before Jane could stop Barlow, he swept a hand overhead. “Why, this castle, of course. And other relics strung across the length and breadth of England. Treasures one and all.”

  When disappointment registered on the faces of the soldiers, Barlow stood tall and lifted a single hand, palm up. “Imagine it, men. These castles, walls, and ancient ruins tell the story of our people. A people who formed from a thousand warring tribes to ward off or consume wave upon wave of invaders. A people who became lords and masters of the far-flung sea
s. A people whose empire stretches to the distant corners of the globe.”

  He motioned to the castle around them.

  “This castle plays an important role in that story, as do you as the latest in a long line of those who stood in the gaps to defend Mother Britannia.”

  Disappointment on the soldiers’ faces gave way to wonder and pride. “We are part of the story?” said Carver.

  Barlow squeezed his shoulder. “Yes, Mr. Carver. We all are. Our story brought us here today, but now it propels us toward the next chapter in the tale, the next thread in the tapestry.”

  The soldier nodded. “And where is that?”

  “Hesket and Penrith, it seems,” said Adam. “We must follow the Roman Road to long-hallowed grounds of ancient giants, whatever that means.”

  Relieved that Barlow’s explanation had apparently mollified the guards, Jane inhaled deeply to breathe a sigh. It brought the sickly scent of sea salt, road dust, and small swine. She wrinkled her nose.

  “I agree, Mr. Ashford. However, if I do not first bathe, I shall become the subject of a much less flattering story.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Adam was waiting patiently with Mr. Barlow at the stable adjacent the inn when Jane and Hester arrived. He immediately scratched his chin in befuddlement. Although he felt refreshed after washing up, the grime of the journey still lay heavily upon him. Jane, on the other hand, seemed as fresh as morning milk. How had she managed such a feat in so little time? To worsen matters, her smile disarmed him, preventing any line of questioning on the mystery. Instead, it was she who offered first greetings.

  “Mr. Ashford. Mr. Barlow. For what reason did you ask us to meet you here?”

  Adam motioned to Barlow. “Our erstwhile traveling companion wishes to purchase a horse.”

  The women regarded Barlow with creased brows. Jane cocked her head. “One horse?”

  “Yes,” Barlow replied.

  Hester’s face drew blank. “For you to ride?”

  The emphasis on the word you carried with it the weight of her disappointment in him. He must have realized her assumption, for his eyes flew wide. “Why, no, Mrs. Byrd! Why would you hold such a low opinion of me?”

  She frowned as if reprimanding a child. “Oh, I don’t know. Your purchased berth on the Wayfarer, perhaps?”

  His cheeks flushed and he dipped his head. “I deserve your critique, then. I beg your forgiveness for my insensitive decision earlier. If I had known you better, I might have behaved more appropriately.”

  Sympathy for the man nudged Adam to intervene on his behalf. “I explained to Mr. Barlow that dragging our baggage twenty miles to Penrith would slow our progress so significantly as to risk failure. I further explained that renting a horse would be prudent but would drain much of my remaining funds. Suddenly, Mr. Barlow took an interest in a particular stallion, claiming that he had been in the market for a horse. Before I could blink, he bought the silly animal. And before I could protest, he offered said animal to haul our baggage for the duration of the journey. I insisted on paying him for the horse’s services, but he will accept only one shilling per day.”

  Hester’s eyes brightened. “Why, Mr. Barlow. It seems we owe you our thanks.”

  He lifted his chin. “As Mr. Ashford said, I was simply in the market for a horse and saw no reason to forego income from the purchase.”

  Jane laughed. “If you say so, sir. Such behavior is very unbecoming of a solicitor, though. Your kind gesture may put at risk your heartless reputation.”

  “I never claimed to be heartless, but merely relentlessly motivated. Why people confuse the two is beyond me.”

  Jane cut her eyes to Adam and grinned wryly. “Good point. It seems that relentless motivation may be misconstrued for a great many poor behaviors.”

  Adam grunted. “If only we could put aside expecting the worst of others, then perhaps they might surprise us.”

  “Yes. If only.”

  …

  Adam dragged the stubborn chestnut horse behind him, understanding now why the stable master had accepted such a low price from Mr. Barlow. As Adam trailed the others, the animal repeatedly nipped at his hat and coat from behind. Meanwhile, his traveling companions appeared oblivious to his trials and travails, instead focusing on the road ahead. While they watched the road, however, Adam had eyes only for Jane. She engaged in lively conversation with her aunt and Barlow, commenting on the clean brisk air, the beauty of the countryside, and the pure nature of the River Petteril that the road followed. She did not seem the monster he had constructed in his head over the years. In fact, she even appeared different than she had aboard ship. Had she changed? Or had he? Lost in his ruminations, he did not sense the horse’s latest attack until it snatched his tricorne hat.

  “Blasted beast!” He forcefully retrieved his hat from grinning teeth. The horse neighed with satisfaction. When he turned again toward the road, Jane’s presence brought him up short. She smiled broadly.

  “Having trouble with the horse, Mr. Ashford?”

  He shook his head. “I fear it is not so much a horse as perhaps a minion of the devil.”

  “Really? A minion of the devil?” She reached to caress the horse’s nose, but it nipped at her outstretched fingers. She snatched them back and seemed to count them to make sure the animal had not taken any. Her brow drew down as she glared at the animal. “Beelzebub, it is, then. I cannot think of a more fitting name.”

  Adam smiled. “Beelzebub. Prince of demons. Perfect. At least we are not required to ride him. Otherwise, he might carry us straight through the gates of Hell.”

  “Indeed. Although I would not mind riding. I remain uncertain about the endurance of my shoes. Though they are suitable for slow walks in the countryside, I doubt their durability on twenty miles of Roman cobblestones.”

  “But walking is good for the constitution. It will make you strong.”

  She snickered. “I am plenty strong enough, thank you. Not that I may count that to my credit. Eligible bachelors hardly prize strength in a woman. I believe they prefer a shrinking violet to a wildflower.”

  “Good point.” He stared into the distance before glancing her way again. “Although, I am rather fond of wildflowers.”

  She glanced at him, seemingly startled, before turning her face away to regard again the river. “And I am rather fond of these shoes.”

  “Should they fail, I will loan you my boots.”

  “Then what will you wear?”

  He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. “I will walk barefoot as did my distant ancestors. If bare feet were good enough for them, then bare feet are good enough for me.”

  “You forget one important fact.”

  “And that is?”

  “They are all dead. Perhaps their lack of suitable footwear was to blame.”

  He snorted a laugh, amused at her droll delivery. “Excellent point. Then I would have to carry you instead.”

  She shook her head vigorously. “That will never do. Such a reckless act might make us friends, and as you know, we shall…”

  “Never be friends. Yes, I know.”

  She shot him a sharp glare and then swept her eyes over him appraisingly. “Speaking of your boots, I must again express my surprise at your rustic attire. I did not believe a gentleman of your dandy reputation could possess clothing so coarse and common.”

  He straightened his hat, which was something of a relic, and looked down at her. “I am not the dandy you believe. While I admit to wearing finery in public for show, I prefer more comfortable attire when at home. As did my father before me. In fact, the boots, coat, and hat are his.”

  He gripped his coat by the collar, lifted it to his nose, and inhaled. The scent of his departed father lingered there, indescribable to others but achingly familiar to him.

  “It still smells of him, al
though I cannot say how.”

  She nodded as a look of empathy crossed her face. “I understand. I keep my father’s handkerchief and my mother’s bonnet for just that reason.”

  The moment of shared experience threatened to rattle him. How could he maintain a firm grip on his enmity toward the Hancocks when Jane insisted on stirring his sympathy instead? He stared ahead, struggling to collect his scattering emotions. Jane interrupted that effort.

  “May I ask a possibly improper question, Adam?”

  “I suppose, so long as I am not required to answer.”

  “Very well.” She paused for several heartbeats, perhaps reconsidering, but spoke anyway. “When you agreed to marry Miss Rutley, regardless of the coin toss outcome, you appeared to hesitate. Do you possess romantic feelings for her?”

  He opened his mouth to reply but froze. Walking alongside Jane, his prudent compromise now seemed tainted. Romantic seemed too strong a word. He sighed. “She is a perfectly lovely girl, and fine company.”

  “You love her, then?”

  He stared ahead while wrestling with the truth. “I love my land. Her…I will love in time.” Silence lingered awkwardly before he cleared his throat. “What of you? Are you the object of some young man’s interest?”

  She expelled a disdainful laugh and waved him away. “Heavens, no. I am merely a miller’s daughter, not a woman of elevated station. And even if I were the Queen of Sheba, young men would continue to shun me. They seem to prefer a wife with a sizeable dowry, while all I offer is several thousand pounds of debt and the prospect of eternity in debtor’s prison.”

  Her cheeks flushed abruptly as she looked away. She lifted a gloved hand briefly to her cheek, perhaps to wipe away an unseen tear, before facing him again. Her smile appeared distinctly forced.

  “No. I am not the object of anyone’s interest. My only salvation lies in finding the gold, winning the game of cross and pile, and erasing my substantial debts. Over time, perhaps the mill may again provide a suitable living for Aunt Hester and me. If I am beyond fortunate, it may do so before I grow too old to find love.”