Page 5 of Undoubtedly Reckless (Rebel by Night #2)

York

Sabina roused later, she could not say how long. She was reluctant to open her eyes, lulled as she was by the sway of the horse’s gait and the warmth of her safe haven.

Would that she could hide from her fate forever and be safe. She forced her eyes open and viewed her surroundings. She needed to harden herself for her life and she was no longer in her sleepy village.

Through the grey drizzle, a darker, menacing grey darkened the horizon until she could make out the shape of buildings. They had made it to York and no one had raised the hue and cry in their wake. It meant nothing. No matter the fact that they had defended themselves, George Templeton, pillar of the community, was stripped and trussed outside the embers of what used to be her home. That was crime enough to hang her, or at least transport her to Australia. She could accede to neither of those destinies, so she must see to her future.

Sabina needed to stay hidden until she turned twenty-five years old. The lives of hundreds depended on her, many had died to keep her safe, and she could not fail. She need not be pleased with York, however. She had been to the city very few times and now she looked about the cobbled streets and tall buildings with no little trepidation. The city looked most unwelcoming in the rain.

Roland seemed to have a destination in mind as they traversed the winding streets and they stopped behind a worn building. He gave the horse in care of a grubby boy and ushered her in out of the rain. Sabina was discombobulated by the sudden warmth and shelter. She blinked in the candlelight and realized she was creating a puddle on the floor, only to be startled when Roland snapped his fingers.

“Get me Melvin,”

Roland ordered a serving boy shortly, his pronunciation sharp and clear.

Oh crumbs. Sabina fought to keep her expression even. Suddenly, her man-of-all-work was speaking as if to the manor born and she did not know how to react.

She kept her carriage erect and stilled herself, which was only possible because the fire chased the chill and her shivers away. Quickly, a large swarthy man of undetermined heritage came from the back, wiping his hands. He lifted an eyebrow at Roland and motioned them to follow him toward the place he had emerged from.

As the man whom Sabina assumed was Melvin led them down strange hallways, Sabina struggled to give off the air of a woman who would keep company with a pirate captain. Given that she had no idea what that type of woman would be like, she remembered one of the passengers from a long-ago voyage, when Sabina had first and last sailed across the English Channel. There had been a regal woman with impeccable carriage and demeanor. Sabina remembered admiring the woman despite her bedraggled cloak and she drew herself straight now. She was destitute but not defeated.

Melvin looked back at the bedraggled pair.

“Thought you were dead,”

the swarthy man lifted an eyebrow, alarming her. Sabina struggled with a reply, then realized he was not addressing her. Truly, she needed rest.

“Heard of that, did you?”

Roland replied distantly, as if news of his death was a common occurrence.

“Not every day Jack O’Dare gets thrown overboard in a mutiny,”

Melvin remarked.

“Never the matter, we need a room,”

Roland said as they followed Melvin up a treacherous stairwell to a drafty landing. They arrived at a dead end. Squinting, Sabina realized there was in fact a door. Melvin shook out a key and unlocked the door.

“Aye, I figured. This one should be safe enough. That’ll be three shillings,”

Melvin said as he held the door open for Sabina.

Roland did not move, so Sabina stayed where she was, pretending to be bored with the whole affair.

“You sailed on my ship,”

Roland said, looking at Melvin blackly. “Is this how you treat your old captain?”

“A man can’t live on goodwill,”

Melvin said.

Roland grunted and pulled out the shillings, which of late lived in George Templeton’s purse.

“And people call me a pirate,”

Roland said.

“I run an honest business, I do,”

Melvin said and took money Roland handed him. “If I’m asked, I gave a room to a husband and wife who needed out from the rain. I certainly did not shelter the captain of a ship I used to pirate on.”

The innkeeper held open the door and waved Sabina in with a flourish.

Sabina ducked inside as Roland held a murmured conversation with Melvin. The room was small and old but clean. Perhaps. The small bed was made up in a muddy grey color but it was dry.

A serving girl came up with a tray, which Melvin took and held out to Sabina. Sabina barely kept the heavy tray from crashing to the ground and quickly set it on the table, which rocked.

“Lovely doing business with you, Captain. Supper is my treat. Madame.”

Melvin tugged a nonexistent forelock at Sabina and shut the door behind them.

Sabina looked around the humble room and then back at Roland. She did not know what to do with her hands, nor the man alone in the room with her. She did not set down her bag, dared not.

“Who are you truly?”

Sabina asked quietly. This man was not only a privateer, as he claimed.

Roland set down her uncle’s carpetbag and rubbed a hand over his face. He was as weary as she. It had been but this morning, some hours ago, when someone had set fire to their shelter and sought to kill them.

“It doesn’t matter,”

Roland answered gently.

Sabina looked at the face of the man who had chopped her wood, fixed her roof, the man she thought was her friend, and discovered it was a stranger who stared back at her.

“What are we doing here?”

Sabina asked, still gripping her bag tightly. She was wet, tired, and afraid.

“Stay here,”

Roland said. “Open the door only if I am on the other side.”

“What?”

Sabina said, alarmed. “Where are you going?”

“I have to fetch some things,”

Roland told her. “I’ll be but some hours. Close the door behind me and put that chair under the handle. Take this.”

Roland held out Templeton’s knife. Sabina took it with revulsion. “You’ll be safe here. Wash, eat, rest. I’ll be back shortly.”

Sabina stared at the knife in her hand then looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I didn’t. I don’t,”

she stuttered.

“Sabina, you must protect yourself. This place should be safe but if anyone comes through that door other than me, you shove this knife in their neck, groin, or legs. Don’t bother with their face or chest. Repeat what I just said,”

Roland ordered.

“Strike their face, groin, or legs,”

Sabina repeated dutifully. She would not be able to do it but she said it to please him.

“I will return. Look at me,”

Roland said firmly. Sabina looked at him and her heart settled somewhat. He looked her in the eyes and made a promise. “I will come back. You will be safe.”

“I am not your responsibility,”

Sabina protested.

“You are not my responsibility,”

Roland agreed, “but you saved my life and I am in your debt. Consider my debt repaid after you are safe.”

He poured some tea into a cup.

“Pour the milk first,”

Sabina said automatically. Roland flashed her a roguish grin that suddenly warmed her and gulped down the tea. Then he poured the milk first, then the tea, and pushed the cup toward her.

With a courtly bow, he pulled a chair toward the door, and with a meaningful look to remind Sabina what to do with the chair, he left.

****

Sabina woke from her fitful sleep at the knock. She quickly threw on her skirt and jacket, still damp. After eating, she had laid down in her wet underthings, her stockings drying out by the fire and her boots close by. The signet remained around her neck, for nothing was more important. She did not know what to expect but at a certain point, a woman could not stay in wet clothing anymore.

A woman alone, Sabina stared at the door, fist tight around the knife. She did not know what time it was. She did not know who was on the other side of the door.

“It’s me,”

Roland’s voice came from the other side. Sabina rapidly opened the door and he entered with a packet under his arm. Two boys followed with a pitcher of clean water, a trunk, and a carpetbag. Roland tipped both boys some coin and ushered them out.

Sabina stared at the carpetbag and the trunk.

“What are these?”

Sabina asked. Roland set the packet down on the table and sat down heavily.

“These on the table are the clothes you’re going to change into. Those on the floor are the worldly possessions of Sarah Kembrooke, new instructor at Pelham’s School for Ladies in Whitchurch.”

Roland took a cold chicken leg from Sabina’s plate and started eating it.

“Whitchurch,”

Sabina said, startled. “I’m going to Wales?”

“Indeed, no. Whitchurch is English. I think. Nevertheless, it is quiet and safe. No one will find you in Shropshire.”

Roland finished the chicken leg and only then saw that Sabina had saved him a complete plate of his own.

Sabina took the napkin off his plate and pushed it toward him, along with a fork.

“Did you think I would let you starve?”

Sabina said absently. “Fork.”

“You should have eaten it, love. Melvin’s sending up breakfast and packing a basket for your journey,”

Roland said around a mouthful of roasted parsnips, long cold.

“My journey?”

Sabina stopped amidst unwrapping the packet. She knew a moment of sharp, sharp fear. It was a wonder she could feel it, fear being her constant companion.

“Yes. Your carriage leaves at eight in the morn, after you break your fast,”

Roland said.

“How? I don’t know. Roland, how did you do this so quickly? How are they going to believe me?”

Sabina sat heavily in the other chair, staring at the accoutrements of yet another identity.

“Do you truly want to know?”

Roland asked. He paused to answer the knock and switch out the dinner tray with the breakfast tray. He poured milk and tea, then wrapped her fingers around it.

“Yes,”

Sabina forced out, though truly she did not wish to know.

“A woman was killed last night,”

Roland said. At her horror, Roland glared. “I did not kill her. Melvin got her possessions before anyone else could. From her journal and letters, she was completely alone in the world, and on the way to Whitchurch to teach at this Pelham school.”

“What was her name?”

Sabina stared at the things.

“Sarah Kembrooke, but close enough that you can insist people call you Sabina. Look at me,”

Roland said, and Sabina stared at him. “Drink your tea.”

Sabina obeyed. “In that carpetbag are Sarah Kembrooke’s letters and journal. In that trunk are her clothes, which will fit you. In this packet are clothes that I procured for you. Sarah Kembrooke is gone. We cannot change that. You must go to the school and live. Some good must come out of this.”

“Her body?”

Sabina’s voice failed her.

“Cremated,”

Roland said bluntly. “The choice is yours, Sabina. Do you live or do you give up?”

****

Sabina put herself together the best she could without a mirror and was satisfied that she presented the picture of Englishness. The dark green bodice and grey skirt were well made, the underthings soft. Her skin crawled at the thought of putting on a dead woman’s clothes, but she had nothing left in the world except Aunt Idonia’s brown shawl and her father’s signet.

She wrestled her heavy mass of hair into a respectable coiffeur and hid it under a fairly hideous cap. How Roland had procured sturdy half-boots her size, she did not know, but they were comfortable and would not rub. She should be grateful that Roland, whom she had known all of two weeks, had possessed the foresight to acquire new clothing for her.

Sabina settled the grey wool cloak around her shoulders and imagined the identity of Sabina Kembrooke enveloping her. She would have a long carriage ride to read the letters and learn this new identity.

There was no other choice. As Roland had said, would she move on or would she give up? With a heavy sigh, Sabina took up the carpetbag, which now held Sabina Elden’s things also, and made her way down the stairs to where Roland waited in the common room.

She could not judge from Roland’s face, for he always smiled when he saw her. With a pang, she realized that she may never see that again. Her job from here on was to disappear.

Roland stood as she drew near and took her carpetbag. He led her to the back of the inn. The sky was still dark and stormy, but there was no rain. They stopped at the threshold. Beyond those doors stood a different life for her and him. She did not wish to go. There was no safety in staying.

“Do you want to know who I am?”

Sabina asked, wanting to give him something. She had only this left to give.

“Yes,”

Roland answered gently, “but you cannot tell me. It’s safer this way.”

“I cannot repay you,”

Sabina said quietly.

“You rescued me, remember,”

Roland said. “I am still in your debt.”

“That is wrong. You almost died because of me. That settles our debt. This is putting me in debt to you.”

“Do you keep a running tally in your head of debts?”

Roland asked.

“Of course,”

she said, and paused when he bent his head down, as if to tell her a dark secret.

“Stop,”

Roland murmured. “What’s past is done and gone. You’re Sabina Kembrooke now. You never saved my life. You’ve never been to Hornsea. You’re going to be a good teacher to the girls at Pelham’s.”

“And then?”

Sabina asked. It was unfair of her to ask him, this man she did not know, but she was so lost.

“And then?”

Roland echoed. “We have one life, Sabina fair. It is ours to do with as we wish.”

“No,”

Sabina corrected him, her eyes on the grey of the world outside the threshold. “Our lives are not ours. We are chained to our duties until we are free or dead.”

“Now that, my lady, sounds akin to defeat,”

Roland said.

“They burned my house down and tried to kill me, Roland. I had to steal some poor dead woman’s life. I’m a woman alone. I am defeated,”

Sabina said tartly, finally feeling some warmth within her bones.

“Nay, none of that now. You’re letting the bastards win.”

“Look at us. I’m wearing a dead woman’s clothes and you were thrown from a ship. The bastards have already won.”

****

Roland stared at the sad, small woman next to him. His heart broke for her, what little heart he had left. She had saved his life and now lived her own in terror.

Growing up with sisters, he knew of only one way to move a woman away from sadness and defeat.

Provocation.

“Oh, to hell with it,”

Roland muttered and pulled Sabina into a sweeping kiss.

It was probably the worst mistake he had ever made. It was the best thing to ever happen. He had kissed countless women, for numerous purposes, and none.

This kiss meant many things, none of which could matter, because she was leaving. Yet he felt a shock, as if he were rubbing wool together. He felt his heart beat faster and drank in her gasp as if it were his last drink of clean water on a voyage.

This kiss rocked him, and he could not pursue this adventure to the end, because she was going on her own adventure without him. For she was right, they had duties to fulfill, until they were free or dead.

Roland broke the kiss, gasping a little. The world spun, from lack of air or the woman in his arms, he did not know. He checked her eyes to see if his attentions were unwarranted, and was relieved to see she was not unaffected.

“Your first kiss?”

Roland guessed.

“Be damned with you.”

Sabina breathed harshly, her eyes wild. Roland snorted a chuckle and saw that the woman he held was again Sabina, and not a rag doll buffeted by fate.

“Listen carefully, Sweetheart,”

Roland said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“I despise your very bones when you call me that,”

she snapped in an uncharacteristic flash of anger.

“Good. If you’re angry then you’re alive. Anger helps you fight. The world isn’t a kind place. No one will help you without a price, and there’s no such thing as a good heart. Know that you can only depend on yourself and wherever you go, you’ll be prepared.”

Roland patted the knife in Sabina’s pocket, as a reminder.

“Are you the exception to this rule then, Roland?”

“Oh, no, I’m the proof,”

he said grimly. Roland pulled Sabina’s hood over her hair and escorted her through the threshold into a new life.

In the blink of an eye, he was a groomsman from a well-to-do household, escorting the family governess to a hired coach.

He spotted something and stopped.

“Look up,”

Roland told Sabina.

****

Finally, the rain had broken and a double rainbow arched over the Yorkshire horizon. The brighter bow mirrored the fainter, smaller band of color.

Somewhere, Sabina was certain the gods were laughing at them, but she tried to appreciate the sight. Wherever she went, she was certain she would not see the like again.

The trunk that now belonged to her was already loaded. She would have the whole coach to herself.

With effortless decorum, Roland handed her up into the carriage. Her hand gripped his reflexively as she settled herself, she could not let go. With one last stricken look, Sabina forced herself to release his hand and he closed the door of the coach. Sabina forced herself to only wave once and then sit back as the coach rattled away. One did not wave at servants.

Only when the coach had exited York on the long journey to Whitchurch did she allow herself to fall apart. She wilted in upon herself, too dispirited and in despair to hold herself upright any longer.

“I can’t do this,”

she whispered desperately, tears leaking down her face. “I can’t. I can’t do this anymore. It hurts.”

With a shake, she stiffened, dashed the tears from her cheeks, and glared out the window. Pelham Academy for Young Ladies, she repeated to herself. Sabina would be the best damned teacher they had ever seen.