Chapter Text
1812
She was lost.
Rhaenyra had suspected it for some time, and now, as she pulled aside the curtain and looked out into the night, she knew. Her carriage was surrounded by fog. It seemed to be in the middle of a cloud. She had no idea of her location. The carriage could be ten yards from her grandfather's house or on the edge of a cliff.
“What shall I do, miss?” asked the coachman from the top of the carriage.
“We’ll wait a little.” It would be foolish to insist on moving in such dense fog. There was no way of knowing where they would end up. “Let me think.”
With a sigh, she let the curtain fall and leaned back in the cushioned seat. It was all her fault, she knew. If only she hadn't been so deep in thought, so immersed in her problems, perhaps she would have noticed that the fog was thickening or that the coachman, not knowing the local terrain, had taken a wrong turn.
In fact, she should have stopped in town and hired a local guide to show the coachman the way. Instead, she tortured herself looking for a way to free herself from her dilemma, so focused on the trap she had set for herself with her lie —why did Grandfather tell Aunt Rhaenys?— that she hadn't paid the slightest attention to the course the coachman had taken.
Well, now she would have to pay for her carelessness.
Rhaenyra opened the carriage door and looked out. Not even the horses' heads were clearly made out. She fixed her eyes on the road. She could see it well enough to realize that it was nothing more than a path on the moor, certainly not the road that led to Chevington Park.
God knows where that London coachman had taken them.
Wrapping her cloak around her neck and tying it around her neck, she descended lightly. The coachman looked around and then back at her.
“But what are you doing, miss?” he motioned down. “I haven't even come down the steps.”
Rhaenyra waved him off.
“It’s all right. Don’t bother. I’ve already gotten down. I’m going to take a look around.”
The coachman looked worried.
“Look, miss, it’s better if you don’t walk far. You can’t see a thing in front of your nose in this weather.” He added bitterly, “Damn place: Dorset.”
Rhaenyra smiled to herself, but refrained from asking him if London wasn't foggy either.
Instead, she asked:
“Do you have a lantern? It would be useful.”
“I do, miss.” The man leaned over and handed her the lantern, still doubtful. Obviously, in his experience, young ladies of fine upbringing didn’t go wandering in the fog, lantern or not.
Rhaenyra ignored him and moved toward the horses, holding the lantern in a way that would clear her field of vision.
The light barely penetrated the fog, but illuminated the ground beneath her feet, allowing her to see the narrow mark left by the carriage wheels. The horse in front, on the right, rolled his eyes, uneasy at her approach, but she spoke to him in a soothing tone, stroking his neck and calming him easily.
She turned to the coachman.
“The best thing we can do, in my opinion, is for me to walk beside the horses, leading them. That way, we'll be certain that we won't go off the trail or fall off a cliff. I can see the ground in front of me well for several feet.”
The coachman looked as horrified as if she had suggested stripping naked and running off screaming into the night.
“Miss! Oh, you can’t do that.”
“Why not? It’s the most sensible thing to do.”
“It’s not appropriate. I’ll guide them.”
He started to put the reins aside, but Rhaenyra’s voice stopped him.
“Nonsense! Who would stop the horses if, by any chance, they decided to run? I assure you: I have no skill with the reins. However, I am perfectly capable of walking and looking at the ground in front of me. Besides, I've lived here most of my life. It is illogical for you to drive horses.”
"But, miss... it wouldn’t be appropriate..."
"Oh, let’s put that aside. ‘Appropriate’ isn’t going to help us get out of this situation, is it?"
She turned her back on him, ending the conversation, and stood in front of the horses. She slipped her hand under the strap of one of the reins and began to walk, holding the lantern aloft with the other hand. The horses began to walk obediently at her side.
The path was somewhat muddy from the rain a few hours earlier, and Rhaenyra stood on the grass beside the rutted path to keep her shoes from getting muddy. However, the moisture from the dew on the grass soon seeped into her shoes.
The fog began to lift a little, revealing a bush here and there, but at the same time it began to drizzle. Sighing, Rhaenyra pulled the hood of her cloak up to protect her face from the cold, steady drops.
The drizzle, she quickly noticed, was turning to rain. Her feet were slippery on the wet grass, but when she stepped onto the path, the slippery mud wasn't much better. Also, the rain was beginning to penetrate her light cloak.
She thought of fetching the umbrella from the carriage but couldn’t imagine how she could carry it along with the lantern and still hold onto the horse’s head. Her only alternative was to wait for the rain to stop, but she didn’t like the idea of being stuck there a minute longer than necessary.
She continued on, thankful that at least the fog was disappearing, reduced to a few patches.
Then, to her left, she saw movement and jumped, startled, letting out a small gasp. She raised the lantern and peered into the night’s darkness. There was a man standing beside a small tree, almost hidden by the branches.
"Sir!" she exclaimed, letting go of the horse’s head and walking decisively toward him. "Sir, can you help me? We’re lost, and..."
The man lunged toward her, frowning furiously, his face pale in the darkness. He held a long-barreled pistol in his hand.
"Shh! Do you want to get us killed?"
At that moment, the lantern exploded in her hand, accompanied by a loud bang. The horses neighed and moved nervously. The broken lantern fell to the ground and went out, plunging her into complete darkness. Rhaenyra screamed and ran back to the carriage.
But before she could take a step, the man closed the distance between them and crashed into her with all his weight, bringing them both to the ground.
Rhaenyra fell hard to the ground, unable to breathe. The stranger was sprawled over her, his weight pinning her to the ground. Rhaenyra struggled to free herself and tried to breathe.
“Stop struggling, damn it!” the man muttered, pinning her to the ground. “They're shooting at us. Do you want to die, you foolish girl?”
Only then did she realize what that bang had been and why the lantern had shattered. Someone had shot at her!
She also realized she had heard more bangs when the man threw her to the ground.
Rhaenyra turned pale with shock.
Shouts could be heard in the distance, but no louder. Near them, the horses, disturbed by the gunfire, whinnied and bucked, shaking their heads. The coachman, cursing, struggled to control them.
The stranger raised his head and looked behind them. Rhaenyra watched him. His face was harsh, with well-defined angles, protruding cheekbones, and clear, slanting eyebrows. He looked, she thought, quite dangerous and, instinctively, she was certain that he was the target of the gunfire.
"Damn it! I think they’re coming after us."
"What?" she said, in a high, loud voice. "What’s happening?"
He shook his head and crouched down. Before she could understand what he was about to do, he grabbed her arms with iron hands and pulled her to her feet, standing up with her.
“Run!” he commanded and, at the same time, ran toward the carriage, dragging her with him.
“ Let me go!” Rhaenyra was trying to break free of him, but he was too strong.
Two more shots rang out behind them and Rhaenyra heard something hit the side of the carriage. The man opened the door and pushed her inside. Rhaenyra screamed again as she hit the ground. The carriage jerked and lurched forward, the coachman apparently unable to control the frightened horses any longer.
The man was holding the door tightly. She thought he would want to get in too, but then, to her surprise, he grabbed hold of something on the roof of the carriage and used the door as a step to pull himself up to the top.
"Watch out!" she shouted to the driver, and she heard the man’s surprised shout and the sound of a struggle, then the thud of a body—undoubtedly the poor coachman—falling onto the seat.
The carriage quickly gained speed, the horses panicked and with the bit between their teeth. The vehicle lurched and swayed along the rutted road. Rhaenyra gripped the seat, fearful of sliding out of the door with the swaying of the carriage.
More shots rang out, and she realized they were aimed exactly at the men firing at them. She saw, at a glance, dark shadows morphing into men and horses. Suddenly, a large man emerged from the darkness, grabbing the door and thrusting his feet inside the carriage. Rhaenyra gave a shrill cry and stepped away from him. As she did so, her hand touched the umbrella lying on the ground.
She grabbed the object and struck the man with all her might, hitting him in the shin. He cried out in pain and was hit hard in the stomach with the tip of the umbrella. He let out another cry of pain, and his fingers came loose from the door. Then he fell out of the carriage.
Rhaenyra sat, gripping the strap on the wall to keep herself balanced; with the other hand, she held the umbrella, ready to strike at any intruder.
They sped forward, the door and carriage jolting back and forth on the rutted road.
Rhaenyra was sure they would tip over at any moment. It was pouring rain by then, and water was coming in through the open door.
After a while, she noticed them slowing to a calmer pace and, after a few moments, she slid into the seat and grabbed the door that was banging uncontrollably, closing it firmly.
She looked with disgust at the puddle forming on the floor, but there wasn’t much she could do about it. She could, however, remove her soaked cloak, the back of which was completely stained with mud from when the stranger had thrown her to the ground.
The stranger man.
Her eyes narrowed as she turned her thoughts to the man.
Who was he and what was he doing on the deserted part of the Dorset coast?
Nothing good, that was for sure.
Those men were shooting at him and, now that she thought about it, it was obvious that he was hiding behind that tree, no doubt waiting for someone.
It was no coincidence that he was looking at her so furiously when she called out to him, she had signaled his presence to the other men, giving them a chance to protect themselves.
She imagined whether he was a highwayman or simply a thug looking to attack one of his enemies.
Of course, she thought, given the place they were in, perhaps he was a gentleman, the name whispered quietly to men involved in the ancient profession of smuggling.
Everyone knew about it and, truth be told, many local citizens of high repute, even among magistrates and judges, turned a blind eye to the illegal trade. In fact, many regularly received a quantity of French cognac at the back door of their homes, in the first rays of sunshine after a moonless night.
There were those who, hating the customs laws, felt that gentlemen had every right to flout the law. The people of the remote coastal areas were famous for their rejection of central government intrusion into what they considered their business.
In the previous century, the smugglers had been so powerful that there had even been intense battles between the Hawkridge gang and the soldiers. Although that era of lawlessness had passed, the smuggling business continued, especially now that desirable French goods were barred from entering England because of the war.
Rhaenyra thought of the man again, remembering his face as he appeared abruptly out of the darkness: the hard angles of his face and gruff mouth, the green eyes under raised eyebrows, the dark, rough clothes.
Yes, she concluded, he had all the appearance of a smuggler in dispute with his fellows, or a highwayman trying to rob a traveler, or simply a thug looking to get revenge on someone.
Whatever he was, she was sure she was not safe. She had seen him in a place where he didn't want to be seen, and had been the unintended cause of the other men shooting at him and chasing him. He had been furious with her before and, no doubt, still was.
That arduous ride in the carriage was perhaps nothing compared to what might happen when the carriage stopped.
And that was happening at that very moment.
Rhaenyra could feel the carriage stop.
Soon, she knew, it would rock to a stop, and he would jump out to open the door. He would get her out of there and—well, she wasn't sure what he would do, but she could imagine him doing anything from beating her to strangling her, including the attacks about which the old women quietly warned young women bold enough to go out unaccompanied.
Rhaenyra held the umbrella firmly. It had already worked quite well as a weapon. Perhaps, if she took him by surprise, she could incapacitate him enough to escape.
When the carriage stopped, she crouched beside the door and waited, listening to the beat of her pulse, every nerve on edge, alert to his approach. She heard the thud as he jumped down and the sound of boots on gravel as he reached the door.
The latch turned, and the door swung open outward.
"You’re—"
Rhaenyra lunged forward with a shout, leaping out of the carriage. She hit the man in the face with the umbrella with all her might, and the handle fortunately broke against his face. The umbrella snapped in two, and the man staggered backward, throwing a series of curses, his hands to his face.
Rhaenyra broke into a run, screaming at the top of her lungs. She knew she was probably too far away for anyone to hear her, but she had to try.
She threw up her skirts and bolted down the muddy path in front of the carriage. She didn't even notice the rain or the mud sticking to her shoes.
He was after her in a second. She could hear him right behind her, but even though she was running so fast she thought her heart would explode, he caught up with her. His hands gripped one of her arms as if it were a strip of iron, forcing her to stop.
“Stop making such a fuss! Damn it, woman, what's the matter with you? You're going to put the entire population of the countryside after us."
Rhaenyra stopped screaming, but only for lack of air. She took a deep breath, spun quickly and struck him with both fists.
She only hit his chest, but her arm hurt considerably. The man let out a few curses and grabbed her wrist, but Rhaenyra writhed and fought, trying to hit him with kicks and punches.
“Hell, woman, will you stop that? Are you crazy?”
They were both completely soaked by the rain, but neither noticed as they struggled in the darkness.
The man was much larger and taller than Rhaenyra, and it was clear he would win the fight, but she fought for her life, and she fought violently, throwing various punches and blows in an attempt to prevent him from overpowering her.
He managed to get an arm around her and lift her off the ground, but Rhaenyra twisted and attacked his face with her nails. He recoiled as he felt her fingers almost digging into his face, very close to his eyes, lost his balance and staggered backwards.
They both fell to the ground, but the fall was cushioned by the mud. The man took the impact and involuntarily relieved the pressure on her. Rhaenyra took the opportunity to break free, but before she could get to her feet, he had already grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop, which caused her to fall face first into the mud.
She got up mud-splattered and furious, lashing out at him immediately. He grabbed her arms, trying to hold them to the sides of her body, but she was slippery due to the rain and mud, which prevented him from holding her tightly. They rolled on the muddy ground, struggling.
Rhaenyra writhed and struggled, trying to break free, and he tried to wrap his arms around her to keep hers pinned to her sides.
In the midst of the struggle, at one point, she felt his hand slide over her breast. She held her breath at the intimate contact, which at the same time surprised and terrified her, both by the sudden and strange warmth that invaded her body and by the blatant closeness of the touch.
He too seemed surprised by the touch and froze for an instant. She took the opportunity to try to get up, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.
The soaked fabric of her dress tore, leaving the sleeve in his hand. She took off running, and he followed close behind. They fell into the mud again, his weight sinking her into the soft filth. He grabbed her wrists, pulling them over her head, and sat up, bracing himself on her arms to keep her pinned to the ground. His legs pressed firmly against hers, immobilizing her beneath him.
The man looked down at her panting, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was soaked and covered in mud; his dark, coarse shirt was slightly open in the front, as some buttons had been torn off during the struggle.
Bare skin appeared through the opening, shiny and wet. His hair was plastered to his forehead. He had a cut at the level of his jaw, from the blow of the umbrella. Her eyes glittered with fury.
Rhaenyra’s throat went dry. The man looked primitive and furious, very masculine and very angry.
Rhaenyra was very aware of the suggestive nature of the position they were in, of his weight on her legs. She was also aware of a strange sensation in her belly, a mixture of fury and excitement and an emotion she could not name. His eyes lowered to her, lingering on the wet corset that squeezed her breasts, and she felt the response in his body.
“Let me go!”
“Not until I get some answers! Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” she gasped, indignant. “I have every right to be here. You're the one who clearly doesn't have good intentions, prowling around the field in the dark, with people shooting behind you. Let me go right now or you'll be in a lot more trouble than you're already in."
“You’re not exactly in a position to be giving orders,” he reminded her, and a slight smile appeared on his lips.
He might have an attractive smile, but his cold, distinctly sardonic face destroyed any trace of charm. The fact that he was having fun at her expense infuriated Rhaenyra, who rammed into him with all her might, trying to break free.
He was far too heavy and strong for her, of course, and her efforts barely moved him, but the gleam in his eyes grew dangerously more intense, reminding Rhaenyra, with a shiver down her spine, of the helplessness and intimacy of her position.
To hide her fear, she pursed her lips disdainfully.
“It is obvious that you are a rogue,” she said coldly. “I suggest you refrain from becoming a criminal as well.”
His eyebrows arched, giving his dark look an even more devilish appearance.
“Very well, madam. But I needn’t remind you that, without witnesses, it’s very difficult to convict anyone.”
He paused, letting his threatening words sink in, then laughed coldly and said:
“Besides, I don’t know of any crime committed tonight. It’s not a crime to take a carriage to save a lady from a gang that was attacking her.”
“You know as well as I do that those men had no interest in me,” Rhaenyra replied. “They were shooting at you.”
His mouth twisted with ferocity.
“Maybe, but they certainly wouldn’t have been if you hadn’t shown up so hysterically, shouting and waving a lantern.”
“How was I supposed to know you were involved in secret matters? I was going to ask for your help in vain, obviously, but I didn’t know anything about you at that point, as I do now. I didn’t know I was dealing with a thief.”
"I'm not a thief," he said, dragging out the words.
“Ha!” Rhaenyra looked at him sarcastically. “Then, what were you doing there, hiding on a foggy night?”
“That’s none of your business, and if you weren’t so nosy, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”
“I should have known you’re the type to blame others. As if I were responsible for your accomplices or your enemies or whoever those people were!”
“My God, you have a poisonous tongue.” Suddenly, he stood up, pulling her with him. “But I have no intention of standing here arguing about who is right. Those men may appear at any moment.”
He squeezed her arm tightly and began to lead her toward the carriage.
Rhaenyra planted her feet on the ground.
“Wait! I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“I think you'd be much better off in Edgecombe than in the darkness of the camp with several armed men around.”
“I didn’t say I was staying here! What I meant was that you’re not going anywhere in my carriage.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then released her arm and stepped back.
“Fine. You’re right. It’s your carriage, and I have no right to it. So I’ll leave you. Have a good day, madam.”
He turned and started to walk away.
In disbelief, Rhaenyra looked in his direction. She remembered that her coachman was unconscious—oh, my God, had he, on top of it all, killed the poor man?—and, although she could drive a gig, handling a carriage with four horses was well beyond her abilities. Not only that, but there was still a group of armed men who might be pursuing her carriage.
“Wait!” she shouted, and when the stranger didn’t stop, she ran a little after him. “Stop! Please!”
He turned to her, eyebrows raised.
“Yes?”
“Don't go. I... I can't drive the carriage all the way to Edgecombe.”
“Hmm. It seems, then, that you have a problem with your carriage. Have a good night.”
“Oh, don’t be so harsh! I’m saying you can come with me to Edgecombe.”
“So you’re granting me the honor of working for you?” he asked sarcastically. “How very kind of you. But I think I’ll decline the invitation. You know, I think it would be better to walk. A man in the fog is less visible than a flashy carriage.”
“Horses are faster.”
He shrugged and turned to continue on his way.
“Wait! You can’t leave me here! A gentleman wouldn’t abandon a lady in such distress.”
"Well, as you've no doubt noticed, I'm not that much of a gentleman, and, frankly, I've yet to see anything in you similar to a lady."
Rhaenyra stared at him.
“All right. Have you satisfied your need to insult me? Now, let’s go. We both know it would be absurd for you to walk when there’s a carriage right here. We don’t like each other, but surely we can make a trade: your skill in driving the horses for the use of my carriage.”
He said nothing; he simply went back and climbed into the carriage. Rhaenyra quickly got into it, and they resumed the journey, this time at a speed more appropriate for the rutted road. Fast enough for Rhaenyra to bounce and jerk in the seat, which made her slightly suspicious that the terrible man was doing it simply to annoy her.
Her discomfort was heightened by the state of her hair and clothes.
That morning, she was elegantly attired in a muslin dress trimmed with branches and short green leather booties, and her hair was tied up high on top of her head, from which a bouquet of curls fell.
Now her shoes were muddy, soaked with mud inside and out, and her dress and hair were in no better condition. She was wet down to her underwear. Her curls were also full of mud, and she felt the dirt drying on her skin.
How would she explain her appearance when she arrived at Park?
Tears welled up in her eyes. As if she didn’t already have enough problems, there was still Grandfather and the terrible lies she had told him… Having to arrive looking like a beggar was the opposite of what she needed.
She blinked and ruthlessly wiped away the tears.
She refused to cry over this. If for no other reason, the tears would leave streaks on her dirty cheeks, making it obvious she’d been crying. And no doubt he would think she was crying because of him. She grimaced at the thought that her mind had drifted to the detestable man who had practically kidnapped her.
He was rude and utterly irritating. He had treated her in a reprehensible manner.
A well-mannered man would not have grabbed her so firmly or thrown her to the ground like that. She recalled the brazen way his eyes lingered on her breasts, revealed by the thin, wet fabric of her dress.
Her face flushed, even alone in the darkness of the carriage, just thinking of how his legs had imprisoned hers, of how intimately his body had been pressed against hers, and of the unseemly movement he made when he looked at her.
It had been such a strange, almost thrilling sensation, even though it was, at the same time, entirely improper and infuriating.
She shifted in her seat, pulling at her soaked dress. She was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.
The mud continued to dry on her body, and her clothes clung to her skin.
Worst of all, her clothes were very cold, which made her shiver incessantly.
She wanted to wrap herself in the cloak to warm up a bit, but it was covered in mud. Still, she could not bear the cold any longer.
She stared at the cloak, undecided, when she realized that the carriage was moving over cobblestones. She stifled an urge to cry, opened the curtain, and looked outside, realizing they had just entered the village.
In a few moments, they entered the courtyard of the Blue Boar. Rhaenyra let out a sigh of relief. Although she had tried not to think about it, she feared the stranger might not actually take her to the village but, realizing the danger that her ability to identify him would pose, abandon her on some deserted, dark road… or worse.
Now, with a shout, she flung open the carriage door before it had even come to a full stop and jumped out.
“Boy, take care of the horses,” she said to the stable boy approaching the vehicle, “and see to my coachman as well. I think we’ll need to call a doctor.”
The stable boy stopped suddenly and stared at her wide-eyed, but Rhaenyra didn’t notice. She was already running to the front door, her only thought to get safely inside before the stranger atop the carriage could catch up to her.
As soon as she stepped into the inn, all conversation stopped instantly, and everyone turned to look at her.
Rhaenyra paused in dismay at being the focus of so many pairs of eyes. In her relief at reaching the Blue Boar, she had forgotten what she looked like, but now all those stupefied faces reminded her of how she looked. Her hand reached for her mud-covered rings, and she looked down at her wet dress, clinging to her body absolutely inappropriately, with one of the sleeves completely ripped off. A wave of intense blush rose up her face to her hair.
The innkeeper, a stout and rough-looking man, stepped out from behind the counter and came toward her. Rhaenyra spotted him, and a feeling of relief washed over her.
“Simon! I’m so glad to see you!”
She took a step or two forward and stopped as she heard him speak.
“Now look here, miss, what do you think you’re doing? Coming in here like this! This is a respectable inn, and there’s no place here for—”
“Simon!” exclaimed Rhaenyra, bewildered. “Don't you recognize me?” Tears of humiliation welled up in her eyes. Only this was missing, the perfectly terrible end to a perfectly terrible day—that Simon, who had known her since she was born, would mistake her for a common whore. Was he really going to throw her out?
The man stopped and looked at her.
“Do I know you?”
“It’s me! Rhaenyra Arryn!” Tears flooded her eyes. She could no longer hold them back, and they streamed down, leaving tracks through the mud on her face.
“Lady Arryn!” he repeated, mouth agape. “Good heavens, what happened? What are you doing here, like this?!”
He approached her, took her gently by the arm, and led her to the inn’s private room and stopped.
“Oh no, there’s a gentleman in there.” He gave Rhaenyra another look, standing beside him, muddy, disheveled, and fighting back tears, then glanced at the rest of the patrons, all watching eagerly.
“Well,” he said, with a sigh.
“You can't stay out here, of that I have no doubt.”
Simon tapped on the door to the private room and opened it when a man's voice answered from inside.
“Excuse me, sir,” said Simon, hurrying in with Rhaenyra into the room. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but we have a bit of a problem here. There’s a lady, and, well, it wouldn’t be right to leave her out there with the regular patrons, sir.”
Rhaenyra looked around the room, struggling to hold back tears. The gentleman sitting by the fireplace—and it was as obvious he was a gentleman as it was clear that the stranger on the moor was a brute—stood up, his eyebrows raised in astonishment. He was impeccably dressed, from the fold of the simple, elegant white neckerchief to the tips of his polished boots. His hair was styled in the same simple manner.
The man gave a quick glance at Rhaenyra’s muddy state and said:
“Exactly, Simon. You’re right. The young lady should stay in the private dining room. The only problem is that I’m expecting a visitor… Ah, there he is. And I must say, it seems quite likely that he’s shared in this young lady’s adventures.”
Rhaenyra turned at his words.
“You!” she exclaimed, with hatred.
There, in the doorway, stood her tormentor.