was the result of his actions.
‘It was quicker my way,’ said Alex. ‘What of your stepbrother who lives in London?’
‘Oh, he never complains of being troubled with pirates,’ she said blandly.
‘How fortunate.’ And how suspicious, thought Alex.
Rosamund thought Master Nilsson’s mouth tightened as he dragged himself into the saddle and guessed she was not going to discover any more about pirates from him. Which was vexatious—there were conversations she had overheard that could have interested him.
Chapter Four
Now Rosamund had the security of the pillion seat, she no longer needed to cling to Master Nilsson for safety and would be able to keep her distance from him.
Alex was also thinking that the pillion seat was money well spent. No longer would he be disturbed by thoughts of the wench’s soft body brushing his back and those small hands holding on to him so she would not fall. Which meant he could concentrate on considering why her stepbrother had no trouble with pirates. This caused him to consider with which countries he traded. It was possible that he had no interest in his stepfather’s markets and instead did business with southern Europe and Africa, so his ships did not risk crossing the northern seas.
Having come to that conclusion, Alex let his mind drift to thoughts of the blonde and beautiful Ingrid Wrangel and the message she had brought him from Harry the morning after Sir James had asked about Harry, saying that the young man reminded him of someone he had known in the past. If Alex had not been distracted just then, he would have asked Sir James for more information. As it was, Alex had not seen him or Harry again that evening. Then had come the message and he had hastened to Cheapside, where the Royal Company of Mercers had their headquarters, in response to its summons. Apparently Harry had information concerning a stolen cargo belonging to Alex. There he was attacked in a cowardly fashion so that he did not even catch sight of his attacker. The only proof he had that his erstwhile friend had been there was a silver amulet of Thor’s hammer reworked into the shape of a cross that he had bent down to pick up.
Fortunately a member of the Royal Company of Mercers had found the unconscious Alex with the amulet still clenched in his hand. He’d had him carried to the monastic hospital that was part of the building. There the monks had nursed him back to health until he was well enough to return to Sweden, having received a missive informing him that his grandmother was dying.
His thoughts were interrupted by a question from his companion. ‘Do you visit London often, Master Nilsson?’
‘Whenever it is necessary,’ he replied, wondering what was behind her question.
‘Have you ever met the Lord Mayor?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Because I am interested in your answer.’
‘No, I have not.’
‘A pity. I would have liked to have known your opinion on what kind of man makes a good Lord Mayor of London. Perhaps you have heard of Richard Whittington, who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and filled the position several times?’
‘I can’t say that I have.’ Despite his denial, Alex was alert to any information to do with the Royal Company of Mercers. ‘What is your interest?’
‘It is my stepbrother’s ambition to be Lord Mayor of London and he is a member of that exalted company. From what I have heard, it takes a plentiful supply of funds to become Lord Mayor,’ said Rosamund.
‘What are you suggesting?’
‘I am not suggesting anything,’ she answered in a colourless voice.
Alex guessed that she was doing exactly that, but showing caution. She wanted him to ponder on her words and come to a conclusion that might match her own. ‘What is your stepbrother’s name?’
‘I would rather not say at this moment. If you have met Sir James, then perhaps you can work that out for yourself, too.’
‘I suspect, Master Wood, you are playing games with me.’
‘I would not dare, Master Nilsson,’ she said, sounding horrified that he should consider such a thought. ‘But there is always the possibility,’ she could not resist adding mischievously.
‘Do not push my patience too far, Master Wood,’ warned Alex.
‘I hear you and obey. I will not plague you any more,’ said Rosamund meekly. ‘I feel a megrim coming on so I will be silent.’
Alex was not sure if he believed in her megrim, but he hoped that she would keep her word and leave him to his thoughts that now concerned a stepbrother whose stepfather was Sir James Appleby and who was a member of the Royal Company of Mercers and was in need of lots of money to fund his ambitions. He was not bothered by pirates, unlike his stepfather, and Master Wood suspected Sir James had been murdered. Was she saying that the prime suspect for his murder was her stepbrother? It seemed extremely likely. Well, it shouldn’t be too difficult for him to discover the identity of Sir James’s stepson once he reached London. But did any of this have aught to do with Harry and Sir James’s words about a likeness to someone he had known in the past?
As the day wore on, the pain in Rosamund’s head increased and her whole body ached. She worried in case Master Nilsson thought she was quite mad, playing games with him instead of giving him straight answers. She did not really believe that he was in the pay of her stepbrother, but how was she to know for certain?
The miles fell behind them until, just before dusk, they stopped at an inn a short distance south of Stafford. By then Rosamund’s head was thumping and she had stomach cramps. As she dismounted, her knees buckled and she would have fallen if Alex had not been there to lift her upright. For a moment she rested her weary body against the strong line of his and was glad of his arm about her. Then with a start of fright, she realised she was behaving like a woman and drew away from him.
By means of clinging on to the horse’s bridle, she managed to remain on her feet, but her gait was unsteady and she felt sick. Yet she insisted on leading the horse to the stable.
Once again Alex watched her with admiration. They had spent hours on horseback and there had been no word of complaint from her. He was not surprised she was exhausted. He wasted no time going inside the inn. It was a finer one than that in which they had stayed last night and he was able to obtain a private bedchamber with a proper bed. He asked for a fire to be lit and supper prepared for them. Then, carrying a lantern, he headed for the stables where he found Rosamund resting against a stall with her eyes closed. He took one look at her face, which appeared to have lost all colour and was damp with perspiration, and told her to get to the inn and rest.
‘But I have not…’ she began.
‘Never mind that. Tell the innkeeper to show you up to our bedchamber.’ His tone was harsh.
‘You’re angry with me because you believe I am playing games with you. Perhaps you believe I am mad,’ cried Rosamund in dismay.
‘Not now,’ said Alex sharply.
She made to continue, but he roared, ‘Get yourself inside and to bed before you collapse!’
Rosamund shrank away from him and stumbled outside and threw up behind some bushes. She felt a little better after that and, despite being near to tears and aching all over, she managed to reach their bedchamber without falling. She peeled off her outer clothes and, with a sense of doom and horror, discovered blood on her nether male undergarment. She must have miscounted the days to when her next monthly courses were due. What was she going to do now? She had never been in such a dilemma before and, for a moment, was at a loss how to deal with the situation. Then common sense asserted itself and she locked the door.
Hastily she took off her shirt and began to remove the binding that constrained her breasts. Tearing a length of the material, she made it into a pad and placed it inside the