“I don’t care what Margery or my father thinks. I’ve been
looking for you. Now stand still. I’m getting tired of this constant cat and mouse,” he said.
“Well, I’m tired of being chased,” she snapped, forced to tip
her head back and look up at him.
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“Then stop running,” he said. “I merely wanted to inquire after your hand.”
In the dim light, half of his face was hidden in shadow. The
other half looked tired and ashen. Gone was the arrogance from
the previous day. He didn’t appear as intimidating as before,
with his shoulders now slightly hunched.
Anne spoke without thinking. “Does your future wife know
you’ve been looking for me?”
His eyes widened in surprise, and he paused for a moment,
before a look of annoyance crossed his face. “You forget your
place,” he said.
“And you, yours.”
He laughed shortly, his teeth flashing white in the gloom.
“Tell me, Anne. How old are you?”
“Sixteen.”
“And where did you serve before coming here?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because I want to know how you’ve made it this far with
that tongue in your head. You don’t speak like a common maid,
and you certainly don’t act like one. I intended to give you a
good tongue-lashing, yet I find myself on the defensive where
you’re concerned. Why is that?”
“Perhaps you are too used to people bowing to your believed
superiority, and don’t understand when your presence is not
desired.”
“‘Believed superiority’? Good Lord, you almost act as if you
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were the lady of the house and I were no more than a common footman.”
Her back stiffened. “I’m sorry it appears that way, sir, but
I refuse to be treated like a common maid,” she said, for it was the truth. Her father had never required her to work. Anne’s mother had been the one to insist that Anne at least learn how
to cook, although she’d often been overruled by Andrew Barrett’s stronger personality.
Stepping around the young master, Anne prepared to return
to the kitchen, but his hand shot out and he grasped her wrist,
his skin warm against hers. A bolt of awareness shot through
her, and Anne stumbled backward, her head hitting the door of
the stall. Tears sprang to her eyes from the pain.
His voice when he spoke was weary. “Please, I’m sorry.
Don’t run away again. I’ve just spent the last twelve months
on a ship and have quite forgotten how to behave. I promise to
leave you alone, if you’ll simply stay put for one moment.”
Rubbing her head, she gazed at him warily. This could be
some kind of trick.
“What do you want?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said.
“Like what?”
“Like I’m the very devil himself.”
“Thus far you have not proven yourself otherwise,” she
muttered.
“Yes, well, you’re not exactly the innocent, now, are you?”
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Her head shot up at his words. “What do you mean?” Did he know she’d taken another piece of cutlery last night? She hadn’t planned on doing it, especially not after the tea incident with Master Drummond. But after that miserable supper, she knew she could never give up her plans to leave.
“I mean, you are as much at fault for our present situation
as I am. In the market you attacked—”
“That’s not true! You assaulted me—” she began.
“I didn’t wield a pail,” he countered.
“I acted in self-defense.”
“You misunderstood my intentions.”
She laughed out loud at that. “I’m quite sure I did not. I might be untested, but I know enough about men like you. There was no way I would let you take me anywhere to ‘discuss’ anything.”
The young master gave her a long look. “Do I frighten
you?” he asked at length.
Determined not to show him just how much, she shook her
head. “No,” she lied.
“Why not?”
“Because you are not the master of this house. Your father
is, and I serve him.” Though, not for much longer.
He raised one sardonic eyebrow. “And do you like serving
him?”
“It does not matter whether I like it or not,” she replied.
“But you choose to remain here. You could seek a situation
elsewhere, and yet you do not.”
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“There is no guarantee that my next position would be an improvement,” she said.
“What if someone were to do just that?” he asked.
“Do what?”
“Promise you that if you left here, your life would be greatly
improved.”
Anne shifted, uncomfortable with his line of question—
ing. “No one can promise me that, for no one can predict the
future.”
The stallion whinnied in the stall, tired of being ignored.
Teach approached his horse and stroked the neck, like Anne
had done just moments before. “Do you ride?” he asked.
Surprised by the sudden change in topic and by his apparent civility, Anne responded without thinking. “Yes, my father
taught me.”
“Was he a groom?”
Too late, Anne realized her mistake. It was rare indeed for a
maid to know how to ride a horse.