A Wish For Nicholas. Jackie Manning

the night with the lovely Becky, the better.

      

      Keane stood in the shade beneath the sprawling oak tree and watched the other four men strain to lift the rocks onto the skid. When the sound of horse’s hooves announced Nick and Becky’s arrival, Keane’s shoulders tightened, and he scowled as they rode up beside him. Becky dropped the rope from Tumbledown Dick’s lead at Keane’s feet.

      “Keane, report to me in my study before supper.” Her voice held none of the tension Nick saw in her stiff spine and shoulders. She had spared Keane’s authority rather than demean him in front of the men, and he respected that.

      Nick slid from the horse, then brushed himself off. “Here’s the bull, Keane. Just as you asked.”

      Keane glared beneath the straw-brimmed hat he wore. “You’ll get no lady’s help with the next job I give ye, Twaddle.”

      “That’s enough, Keane.” Authority laced Becky’s words, and Keane’s face flushed.

      “For the rest of the day, Twaddle will be under my charge.”

      Everyone’s gaze fixed on Becky. Nick wondered, as well as the other curious men, what chores she had in mind for him.

      “Get back on the horse, Twaddle. We don’t have all day.”

      “I don’t mind walking,” Nick said lazily.

      “Let you walk alone?” She tossed her head and huffed. “You’re not going to be out of my sight, Twaddle. Jump back on and be quick about it.”

      Nick did as he was told, but not before he witnessed the resentment deepen in Keane’s face. If Keane was the overseer, as Geer had said, Keane acted as the puppet with Becky controlling the strings. Yet she cut him no slack when they were alone, as Nick had witnessed in the pasture yesterday. A man like Keane wouldn’t enjoy being ordered about by a woman.

      Becky forced the mare to a steady gallop, and for the next few minutes they rode silently over the fields and meadows toward the manor house.

      When they came in sight of the horse barn, a small boy ran out from the bushes alongside the path in front of the horse.

      Becky pulled on the reins. The animal whinnied, reared back from the child and missed trampling the youngster by mere inches.

      Nick was at the child’s side in seconds. He picked up the boy, who was at least three years old, by the size of him. Sandy gold curls framed the face of an angel. Blue-violet eyes, wide with surprise, stared back at him.

      Becky slipped from the saddle in one fleeting motion. When the tot saw Becky, a wide smile flashed across his cherub face. Her hands shook when she grabbed her brother and cradled him to her. “Baby Harry.” She buried her face in his curls.

      Nick remembered that Becky had lost her parents and older sister with the plague only last summer. No doubt the close call reminded her of the loss. The idea recalled his own memories as he gathered the reins of the startled mare and tied the animal to a tree.

      By the time he came back to where Becky and her brother were, she had composed herself, and the child smiled happily in her arms.

      Becky glanced around, then held up the boy’s hand to Nick. “Hold Harry while I see what happened to Mary. She should have been watching him.”

      Nick stared at the child, then back at Becky. “You’re not leaving me with this babe, are you?” As the only surviving child in the family, Nick had run off to sea as a young lad, so he’d never been alone with a child.

      “You’re staring at him like he’s going to bite! Just hold him while I find my cousin Mary.”

      “Hurry back.” Nick took the child, whose smile faded immediately. Nick felt more terrified than if he were staring down the barrel of a cannon on one of De Ruyter’s ships.

      Nick held the baby with outstretched arms, its chubby legs dangling in the air.

      “Pox and calamity! I’d swear you never saw a tad before.” She glared at him, then a slight smile brightened her face. “I’ll be right back,” she shot over her shoulder. Both Nick and the child watched Becky dash along the bushes and disappear inside a small shed beside a pinkflowered hedge.

      Then Nick and Baby Harry stared at each other. The boy’s pink mouth flew open, and he howled the most bloodcurdling scream Nick had ever heard.

      Becky burst out of the shed, along with a flushed young girl who looked around ten and six, and a young man whose beet-colored face told a tale all of its own. The young couple headed in different directions.

      Becky sailed toward Nick, cheeks the color of the pink blossoming hedge, her skirts flying behind her. He was reminded of a tall, beautiful ship, banners flying, as she made course.

      “Best you get used to crying babies, Twaddle. It seems that Mary, who was Baby Harry’s nanny, is leaving to get married.”

      Becky chuckled as she took her brother from him. Harry rubbed his eyes, the screams immediately turning into hiccups.

      “So? What does that have to do with me?”

      “I’ll explain, but first follow me.” Only the slight smile Becky tried to hide warned Nick that she was planning some devilment. He limped behind her, taking one step to her every two. Over her shoulder, Baby Harry peered at him, eyes round and distrusting.

      Nick swore under his breath. He wasn’t afraid of hard work, but as they approached the crumbling stone entrance to the old manor house, his sense of wariness increased.

      The mixed aroma of sour milk, molasses and vinegar rushed out at him as he stepped inside the small storage room off the galley—kitchen, he reminded himself. He glanced around. Bloody hell, she wasn’t going to stick him here, in the cook’s quarters, was she?

      But she pushed past the servants, who were busy with supper chores, and he was reminded that whatever she had in mind might be a blessing in disguise. For how else would he be able to seek entrance to the house if she didn’t assign him duties here?