Page 32 of Her Noble Groom

Chapter twenty-six

T he following morning, a servant arrived, just as James had promised, carrying a bucket of milk.

“Is there any word about Seigneur de Carteret’s friends?” Thomasse asked.

“Only that he failed to gain their release. Rumor has it the garrison is searching for a third conspirator, that man Hareford,” she said, setting the bucket on the table. “He is a desperate man. Keep your door barred.”

“Many thanks for the warning,” Thomasse replied.

“Unless you need something else, I shall be on my way.”

Thomasse rose. “Nothing else.” She followed the maid to the door, and barred it behind her.

She grabbed Joanna and tucked her in close.

Her body trembled as she recalled the pirate’s words at the faire.

“I will see hell before I let some country churl raise my child,” and “Mark my words, I will take what is mine.” And here she sat, alone with Joanna in the cottage—the very place where the pirate had found her before.

Unable to shake her fear, she laid Joanna in the cradle and paced the cottage, the pirate’s words echoing in her head. She checked again and again to ensure the shutters and the door were securely barred.

What if Hareford was hiding nearby, just waiting for her to open the door?

They could not hide in here forever. They would need food, and soon her days of lying in would be over, and lessons with Philippe and William would resume.

She would be vulnerable on the walk between the cottage and the manor house .

Joanna fussed. Thomasse picked her up and laid down, the babe nestled in the crook of her arm. Soon Joanna calmed and slept. Thomasse closed her eyes—and the dream came.

James stood in the doorway. She ran to greet him, Joanna in her arms. They shared a passionate kiss before James took the babe, lifting her high as she giggled.

Suddenly the cottage darkened. The pirate loomed in the doorway, sword drawn, fury etched on his face.

“I warned you.” He pointed his sword at James. “Hand over the child.”

Thomasse threw her body between them, but not quickly enough.

James lay bleeding on the floor, the pirate fleeing the cottage, the babe clutched in his arms.

Her eyes flew open, heart pounding so loud she could hear it. A cry tore from deep inside, and Joanna wailed in protest. Thomasse cooed and sang until the babe calmed.

How she wished James was here, holding her, soothing away her fears. But he was not—and somewhere out there the pirate roamed the isle—perhaps even now watching the cottage. The servant had called him desperate—and desperate men did reckless things. She would do what she must to keep them safe.

Why at such a time when she and James had grown closer? Sharing the cottage and caring for Joanna together had brought joy she had not thought possible. But now—his very presence could place them all in peril.

The door rattled.

She froze, not daring to breathe. With the door barred, whoever it was would not know for certain who was inside. That is unless Joanna cried.

“Thomasse, open the door.”

James.

What was she to do? She had not had time to think it through. If the pirate lurked in the shadows, waiting for her to open the door, her dream could become real. She must send James away.

She rose from the mat and crossed to the door. Unbarring it, she opened it a crack. “Why did you come back?” Thomasse asked, her tone deliberately cold.

James stared at her, mouth agape .

“Joanna and I are well now. There is no need to continue coming to ease your conscience.”

“I do not come out of guilt. You are my wife. Joanna is our daughter.”

Thomasse placed a hand on her hip. “She is my daughter. Please—let me raise her in peace.”

He blinked several times, then whispered, “Have you no heart?” His brow furrowed as he studied her face, the hurt plain in his eyes. “What a fool I have been to be so taken in.” He turned on his heel and strode up the hillock.

Thomasse barred the door and dropped to the floor, tears flowing down her cheeks. She had not wanted to hurt him, but there was no other way to keep them all safe.

J ames turned and strode away. How wrong Madame had been about Thomasse. She had meant every word she said during her travail. What a fool he had been to believe she cared.

He should never have agreed to their marriage.

The grief he had known when Becca and their babe died had nearly broken him, but it was fate that had stolen them away.

Thomasse—she had made a deliberate choice to cause him pain.

Now he was paying the penalty for offering his heart to someone who did not want it.