Brothers' Fury (Bleeding Land Trilogy 2) by Giles Kristian Read Free Book Online Page A

comfort.
    ‘It is bitter cold,’ she said, not meeting his eye, hoping that the young man might take her tears as a symptom of their riding into the wind. The day had begun still and cold when they had set out from Warrington, but now a biting south-westerly was scouring the Cheshire plain, buffeting an array of ravens and jackdaws that came barrelling through the nearby woods to roost, and causing the skeletal hedgerows to shiver incessantly.
    ‘Take my cloak, my lady,’ Joseph said, raising raw, gloveless hands from the reins to remove the thick woollen garment.
    Bess shook her head. ‘Thank you, Joseph, but it is only my face that feels the chill,’ she lied, giving him a smile that was meant, if not convincing. ‘And remember you must call me Bess, simply Bess. To be safe.’
    The lad nodded, pushing two fingers against his mouth as if chastising himself for forgetting their arrangement, and Bess waved a hand as though it were of no matter, at least whilst they two were alone out there. The young man riding withher, a blunderbuss strapped across his back, was as thin as a birch and would likely freeze to death without his cloak, which meant that his kind offer was another blade in Bess’s conscience. For she knew Joseph would do anything for her, that freezing to death would be a contentment to him if she would only wear his cloak. Which was, of course (she had no illusions) why she had asked him to ride from Shear House with her, the two of them slipping away through the pre-dawn cold the night before last.
    Well, she had not exactly asked him; she had told him of her intentions, perhaps at that time simply confiding in him because there was no one else she felt she could tell. But Joseph had offered to go with her, to guard her, had all but insisted, and perhaps Bess had known that he would. Certainly her protestations that he must remain with the garrison or surely face Major Radcliffe’s wrath had felt hollow on her tongue. And had she not admitted that she
would
feel safer on the road with a brave man such as he beside her?
    ‘I can see that your mind is made up to go, my lady,’ Joseph had said with a determined nod, ‘and I will not have you travel alone.’
    She had smiled at him then, a warm, true smile that was for him certainly, but half for herself too and the excitement of the planned journey upon which she had set her mind to embark. Not that she was without fear, for even in times of peace it would be a dangerous enterprise for a woman to set off across the country as Bess had done. To do so in the midst of war, and with Bess being who she was – a woman long on privilege but short on experience – was recklessly foolish and Bess knew it. But she would risk anything … everything to bring her family back together, to have her brothers back under the roof of Shear House and spare them the fate of those she had loved and lost. Was she not as brave as they? Was she not a Rivers too?
    ‘You are a good friend, Joe,’ she said now, stifling a shiverthat ran up the backs of her arms, ‘and I’m lucky to have you. Do not think I don’t know it.’
    His head lifted at that, his boy’s eyes giving away too much, the smile on his chapped lips joy tempered by pride.
    I owe him that much at least, she thought, and this time she cuffed away the tear whilst it yet welled in her eye. Because if she felt guilty for drawing this young man into her scheme, it was as nothing compared with the shame that sat in her belly like a coiled serpent for leaving her baby.
    She had tried to smooth the thing in her mind countless times. Little Francis, her love, her pride, would be fine, she had told herself. Mother will dote on the boy, will see him rarely leave the crook of her arm and all his needs attended. For where else could Lady Mary’s heart settle now, with her husband dead, her sons off fighting in the war and Bess gone without so much as a parting word?
    And yet she had missed her baby from the moment she