The Adventurer's Bride. June Francis
that she had made herself the other year wash over the wound just beneath his collarbone. She was aware of the mingling smells of sandalwood, blood, dried sweat and wine and that he gritted his teeth as she swabbed the wound with a clean rag.
‘I am sorry if I’m hurting you,’ she said hastily. Curling strands of her light brown hair that had escaped from beneath her cap brushed his chin as she lowered her head further.
Nicholas breathed in the scent of camomile and guessed she washed her hair in water perfumed by the dried flower heads. His thoughts drifted back to his boyhood when he had visited his godparents. Sir Jasper had been a prosperous wine merchant with a house in Bristol and another in the countryside a few miles from the port. He remembered a meadow being covered in camomile daisies.
‘Do you see much of Anthony Mortimer?’ he asked.
Jane moved away and considered her answer as she took a small jar from the stool nearby. ‘A fair amount. He is lonely. No doubt he misses the excitement of his old life of travel and meeting people. I am sure you can understand why that should be so, having travelled so much yourself?’
‘Not as much as him, I am certain,’ said Nicholas, frowning. ‘After all, he is much older than I and will surely find it more difficult to settle.’
‘Perhaps. When Rebecca’s at home, he does spend time in her company,’ replied Jane, ‘but not as much as he would like. Since her marriage to your brother, she likes to accompany him when he is summoned to court or the king gives him permission to perform for one of his lordly friends at their mansions, castles or palaces.’
Jane began to smooth salve on his wound and Nicholas felt her breasts press against him. Despite the pain he was in, he was aware of a stirring in his loins and it surprised him. For months he had not been with a woman and had held in his mind the image of Jane as a Madonna: a man did not have sexual desire for such an icon of reverence and worship. It was definitely odd and he knew that he must distract them both from this sudden unexpected yearning of his body. Being a widow, she would know what it signified if she were to become aware of his arousal.
He remembered his younger brother, Pip, wagering that he would never manage to live the celibate life required of priest. Nicholas had determined to prove him wrong. It appeared that his brother was right if the slightest brush of Jane’s breasts could create such a reaction in him. He imagined holding their firm roundness, pressing his lips against her soft skin.
He must stop this! He cleared his throat. ‘Tell me about this spinning business of yours. Does Master Mortimer take a great interest in it at all?’
‘You seem very interested in him,’ said Jane, frowning.
‘My concern is for you. As I’ve already said, he’s not a young man and you have enough on your hands caring for the children and trying to support them and yourself without becoming too closely involved with a man soon to be in his dotage.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What are you trying to say, Master Hurst?’
‘You’re no fool, Jane,’ he replied. ‘You know what I’m talking about.’
‘If it is marriage you refer to,’ she muttered, a rosy colour flooding her cheeks, ‘then I would remind you that it is but four months since my husband died and this year is a period of mourning for me. I am hardly going to encourage Mortimer in such circumstances.’
He had forgotten temporarily about the mourning period, but he did not say so because all of a sudden he felt extremely odd. ‘Brandy!’ he exclaimed abruptly.
She stared at him and saw that he had gone quite pale beneath his tan. She clicked her tongue against her teeth and hurried away.
He closed his eyes, but despite doing so he could not shut out the scent of camomile that lingered in the air and again was reminded of his godparents and a spring when the tide was high. Sir Jasper had taken him to see the wave that swept in from the Bristol Channel as it fought against the river current. Despite all the wonders he had since seen on his travels, Nicholas had never forgotten the sight of that frightening wall of water advancing towards them and it had haunted his dreams. His godparents had had no children and the fortune Sir Jasper had amassed had come to Nicholas after the death of his godmother a year after her larger-than-life husband had died. At that time the urge to travel had been strong in him and he had seldom visited his properties. He had put an agent in the house in Bristol and a married couple in the one overlooking the estuary.
Since Matilda’s birth, he had come to the decision that he needed to make a proper home for her and it seemed sensible to take possession of his property.
There came the sound of a bottle being opened and liquor poured and then the swish of her black skirts as Jane returned. ‘Here you are, Master Hurst,’ she said, her voice sounding anxious.
His heavy eyelids lifted and he stared at her. ‘Why can’t you call me Nicholas?’ he said fretfully, taking the goblet from her and downing the brandy in one gulp. ‘Tell me, has Mortimer asked you to marry him?’
‘What!’ Jane returned his gaze with a frozen stare. Then she snatched the empty vessel from him and placed it beside the bottle on the table. ‘Why do you ask me such questions at such a time? Now, are you ready for me to continue with my ministrations?’ She picked up a cloth pad and one of the bindings and raised her eyebrows.
‘I am thinking only of your good,’ he said.
‘I can take care of myself,’ she retorted, pressing the pad on the shoulder wound, aware that he caught his breath as she did so. ‘Hold this and remain still and quiet.’
He frowned and placed his hand against the pad, convinced that Mortimer had proposed marriage to her. ‘A woman needs a man, although it is a puzzle to me why you ever asked me to be Simon’s godfather if you do not want me taking an interest in your affairs,’ he muttered. ‘Why did you?’
She had no answer to give him to that question that would not immediately result in his prying even deeper into her reasons for so involving him and could only say, ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’
‘But not now? I admit that I was flattered when you asked me,’ he continued.
‘It was not my intention to flatter you,’ she said, binding the pad securely into place. ‘Why is it that you cannot obey a simple command? You’ve remained neither still nor quiet when I requested it.’
Nicholas sighed. ‘I am receiving the impression that you believe I have too much of a high opinion of myself and am no longer suitable to be Simon’s godfather.’
‘Now you are being foolish. Besides, I’m sure there are lots of people who tell you how brave and clever and marvellous you are,’ murmured Jane. ‘No doubt some of what they say about you is true, so I still would like you to confirm the proxy promises your brother made on your behalf. I deem it would be good for my son to have such a godfather as yourself as an example of real courage.’
Nicholas groaned. ‘You can’t really believe all that my brother has transcribed about me from my journals? I would that you didn’t set me up as some kind of hero as an example for Simon to follow.’
She remembered afresh their first meeting and chuckled. ‘I saw an example of your courage when you braved that cur with a broken arm to defend my James and so did he.’
‘That was not heroic. It was damn foolhardiness. I should have grabbed the boy’s hand and made a run for it.’
She shook her head. ‘I doubt it is in your nature not to make a fight of it when confronted with danger and you must have a certain amount of intelligence to have survived so many adventures.’
‘Good fortune had something to do with it, Jane,’ he said, cautiously attempting to move his injured shoulder, only to stifle a groan. ‘How about another brandy?’ he muttered.
She looked doubtful. ‘When did you last eat?’
‘Hours ago,’ he replied. ‘Although what has that to